


A Dancer I Am Not

by HuggerMuggered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Belly Dancing, Cultural AU, F/M, Gods and Man and War, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HuggerMuggered/pseuds/HuggerMuggered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Geoff, the leader of the Faith of the Empire of the Dawn Caller has chosen two Dancers already from the regions surrounding the palace. When his journey for his final dancer takes him to the harvest region, and he chooses Ray, how will everyone's lives change? Especially with the threat of war on the horizon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They Covered Him in Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just saying: I created this culture and religion from snippets and snaps from around the world and through the centuries. If anything I have written is disrespectful PLEASE tell me immediately so that I can remove or change it. I really, really don't want to offend anyone.
> 
> Please visit [Rai](http://raithehaiku.tumblr.com/) She's the one who inspired this whole shenanigan with [this picture](http://raithehaiku.tumblr.com/post/52589612570/i-was-warming-up-my-wrist-with-a-few-sketches-and).

"This year, you will dance."

He'd heard the words over and over again, and he'd expected them to mean nothing when they were finally spoken to him and not one of the other boys; but his breath hitches as his grandmother presents him with the flower crown ringed in red roses, and the necklace to match. He puts them on, almost in awe of the color. 

Flowers are a luxury, this many roses must have cost his Grandmother dozens of hours of labor, spinning away at her spindle with her bony hands and gnarled fingers as her only grandson worked the fields with his parents. She is old, they have told her to stop working, to let them repay her taking care of them for so long. Every time they mention the idea she laughs, and that is why she has the spindle and the thread- and why she must have spent weeks making lace just to sell it off and immediately buy the flowers and the other materials for the crown, the necklace.

"You know I dance like a drunken ox." Ray says finally, fingers brushing the delicate petals laying against his nearly bare chest. The sheer gossamer there is not enough to keep the flowers from rubbing against it: the outfit is too large for him, borrowed for the ceremony that will take place in a few hours. It is accustomed to the usual class of young man from their village; large, burly, working the fields night and day. Ray has always been slim, and even now his grandmother is tutting as she moves around him slowly, pinching the fabric here and there with a pin. Making it so that it will stay in place as he moves- like a drunken ox or not. 

His grandmother has not responded to him, so he speaks again.  
"Gran, this is too much." He says- and he is immediately reprimanded.

"You will dance!" She says, fervor in her voice that has never changed. "It is barely enough."

Ray will admit that it is very little in comparison to the other regions- The places that will dress their boys in gems and gold aplenty so that they will be spotted, recognized. This year the ceremony will take place in the harvest region, though; they will merely try their best to entertain. The ceremony is not only for the Gods in the sky, after all. It is for the living God as well.

"The prince is hardly likely to chose this." Ray says. He follows by gesturing to himself, the plain white gossamer and yellow loose pants. There is no sparkle, and barely any embroidery. The sleeves that go from elbow to wrist are not even the same fabric as the pants- they had been replaced some time ago and the issue had never been addressed. And under all of that, beneath the unassuming fabric and the small dark swirling religious patterns his mother had been laying on his arms up until a half hour ago, is the brown skin he knows will be the reason he will dance today and return to the fields tomorrow. 

"The prince will choose from one of the Northern Villages, Gran. Just as it has always done. There is no place for darkness in the temples of the sun."

He feels a sudden prick to his arm and he flinches, dodging the pin before it can poke at his arm again. His grandmother glares at him from lower down, where her curved back forces her to stare up at him. 

"He will chose wisely, as all of them have- But no wise Prince can ignore the right dancer. It is his duty to chose for the dance, as it is yours to perform it." She says. She has put the pin down now, and she pushes against his side to make him spin gently so that she can see her work. When Ray has finished spinning she merely stares for a moment and then gestures for him to lean down. As he does, she straightens the flowers around his neck.

"These flowers are not Gold, as what hangs from the necks of dancers in the temples. It is neither gemstone nor ore; but the Earth brought it to us all the same from the Sun's gifts. This is the symbol of our Village-" The old woman seemed to be trying to phrase the next words carefully. "And if you do not return here tomorrow, I will know that the Gods still know why they planted these flowers in only our ground to grow."

Ray lets her kiss his forehead and then adjust the crown once more. His father has appeared in the doorway to their small home, and he can see his mother smiling at him from the pre-dawn darkness outside. He walks out to her and lets her carefully take hold of him, he barely moves to hug her back, lest he ruin the hour she spent making the patterns on his arms which are still wet.

"My child." She says, taking his face in her hands. "You look like the Gods dropped you on this Earth to spread color and life."

"Thank you Mother." He says, grasping her hands and squeezing before she pulls away completely. "I'll try not to trip and ruin the sigils."

His father has no words, but they have never needed them. He climbs up onto the small cart connected to an ox, both belonging to not one family but the whole village, and waits for his father to take the reins next to him. They can spare no more than the two of them, because though the Ceremony is important- The wheat needs constant tending.

When the ox starts to move, ambling along at it's own pace despite his fathers quiet curses at it, Ray turns to take a look at his Village, to memorize it. He expects to be gone a full day, which is so much more than he has ever been gone before.

Later, he will be glad he took such a long look, and waved to his mother as she disappeared behind the fields.


	2. The Sun is Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always please visit [Rai](http://raithehaiku.tumblr.com/) who started it all.
> 
> (I got through Chapter one faster than I normally work because I was just so excited for the story and by the responses I got from you readers. By the way, the kindness you all have shown me in liking the story both here and on AO3 is mesmerizing. I can’t thank you enough. Also I got some fantastic outfit inspiration when I saw [this picture by Someoneyoudon’tknow5](http://someoneudontknow5.tumblr.com/post/50604411386/whoops-my-hand-slipped-x) on Tumblr. Check out their art it’s brilliant!! I love the Baby AU comics :) )
> 
> ((Music in this chapter can be found [Here](http://raithehaiku.tumblr.com/). Look to the bottom authors note to know what’s what. Please enjoy the chapter.))

Geoff is not an early riser by choice, but by necessity. If it takes a chalice of wine in the darkness of the morning to make the wine from the night before stop pounding against the prince's head, he can count on his boys to keep it a secret from anyone outside his rooms. In fact, he can smell wine as Gavin wakes him with a grasp of his upper arm and the smell lingers as the younger man scuttles backwards on light feet to dodge the slow fist that strikes out at him. The bells along the dancer's waist and wrists jingle as he moves backwards, and somehow Geoff knows it is on purpose. He hadn't jingled when he'd moved forward to shake him awake, so he must be jingling now just to worsen the headache that the prince has put upon himself.

He cracks an eye open to watch as Gavin re-balances the gold cup in his hand, head bowed low.

It's only bowed low so that the prince can't call him on his shit-eating grin.

"This early?" Geoff says, disgusted. Coming from his mouth it's like a curse. "This early? You are completely imbecilic. Give me that--"

Gavin leans forward smoothly and Geoff grabs the chalice, not surprised when the other hand causes the dark amber liquid to slosh over the side, and Gavin takes his place back by the side of the bed with his head raised once more now that he's not staring directly at the prince's face. If Geoff knows anything, based on the look Michael shoots at the other Dancer as he enters the room carrying a pile of clothing, it's that Gavin is still working on straightening out his face where it's hidden behind the curtains of the bed.

He lets Michael do the angry looking and focuses on his drink, completely ignoring the clothes that have been placed at his feet. He can hear a quiet squeal--something like a bird noise, and then suddenly behind the curtains there is the sound of violent bell jingling and “Mi-cool please!” being whispered fervently as quietly as possible. The only answer the prince can hear in response is a short, satisfied grunt--and then Michael is returning to view, moving his fingers at his side, relishing the feeling of having been able to find something to punch Gavin about so early in the day.

“The servants gave me these clothes to give you, I’d suspect that hints that the King is already up and moving. They wouldn’t have bothered having us bother you yet otherwise,” Michael says. The conversation is clipped, controlled. It’s nothing less than what Geoff has come to expect from the man he chose two years ago in the mining region. 

The prince answers with a vague wave of his unoccupied left hand, and Michael pauses only to grab Gavin’s arm and pull him along toward the doorway leading out of the room. The lanky goof must have decided to behave, because Geoff can hear no further scuffle--no bells or yelling--as the quiet footfalls of his dancers fade away.

“Already up,” Geoff mutters to himself, finishing the last few drops of wine. “Of course he is. Fucking always up and moving.”

It takes a cool breeze against his bare chest for Geoff to make himself move. He still ignores the clothing provided for him as he moves to the open hole in the wall that passes for a window this far from the Palace, leaning against the sill to stare outside and try to see the landscape around him. It seems barren. There aren’t enough buildings, and the temple they are set beside seems like a joke when compared to the one that sits next to the Palace. Even now he can picture the gilt ceiling in his temple, the idols and the extravagance. 

Technically this temple is his too, but he would rather not put his name on it if he can help it.

It’s a few minutes later that he hears the jingling again, and multiple footfalls. Gavin and Michael come into the room nearly on top of each other, arranging themselves at the points of the room where they should have been anyway. Gavin takes the back corner, plopping down in a pile of limbs onto a thick feather pillow. He pulls an instrument covered in strings to his chest and begins to play, attempting to look as though he’s been doing so for a while. Michael takes his time, merely positioning himself by the door with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Geoff knows they've done this to warn them of the King’s approach. The Lads are good like that. He tosses his chalice to Michael just as new, hurried footfalls reach his ears, and he doesn't have time to see where the boy puts it before three people are in his chamber. Two of them step forward immediately and bow their heads, and the music cuts off as both Gavin and Michael bow to the third figure, who doesn’t seem to have the time to care about formalities.

“You’re not even dressed yet?” Burnie asks, sounding more exasperated than angry. “Did you even go to bed?”

Geoff is polite enough to wave a hand at the two figures standing behind Burnie, releasing them from whatever bowing nonsense they deemed had been appropriate. They move back in the same way that Gavin and Michael do when Geoff has finished with official business, his brother must have a bit more of a like mind than it had lately seemed.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that anything could start without me. Am I going to be late?” Geoff asks, taking on the same tone Burnie had been using. “Judging by the fact that I can still see the moon, I’m guessing that there’s not much chance of it.”

The grin he gets in response is half-hidden, and Geoff takes a moment to look over his brother. They hadn't seen much of each other as of late, with Burnie busy being the King as his firstborn right, his political and economic channelings taking him all over the kingdom. Geoff always seemed to be rooted to the Palace, the Temple being his main responsibility as second-born. His brother seemed thinner, though not gaunt. Not yet.

“Well I was under the impression that I might end up being late, and while it’s not strictly necessary for me to be here, I don’t like to miss these things,” Burnie says, shrugging his shoulders. The cloth of his shirt looks heavy, weighed down by embroidery almost as intricate as the designs covering his brother’s arms and chest. He continues talking, still the manifestation of pure energy.

“Gus told me on the way here that the square is already filling up. Barbara says that the temple dancers are ready for their instructions... If your dancers are ready?” Burnie asks. The woman and man standing behind the king turn simultaneously to the boys on the edges of the room, both of whom look to Geoff for instruction. 

He waits a moment to address them, asking instead: “You have your Scribe and your best General running around making preparations for my Ceremony?”

Burnie waves his left hand in the air as if to bat the question away. “Gustavo is used to doing more than his title would suggest, and Barbara could use a break from the consulate. We all could. Your ceremony, however,” there is the slight teasing tone again, “will become nothing unless you send your dancers to begin preparations for you.”

The teasing is light, non-threatening. The king and the prince are equals, after all. They each have half of a civilization to tend to--the People or their Faith - and any squabble between them has only ever been small. Geoff still thinks Burnie got the harder job.

“Michael, Gavin, head to the Temple and prepare the dancers,” Geoff orders, still looking at Burnie. “Make sure you’re fully dressed, I’ll be having the servants cleaning up soon. We won’t be coming back here. After tonight it’s straight back to the Palace and our usual responsibilities.”

Michael is at the door already so his footfalls are quick to recede, and Geoff can hear Gavin standing and carefully putting down the instrument he’d been holding so that he can scamper off to catch up. With them gone he feels almost out-flanked. Burnie still has Barbara and Gus. 

“I’ll assume you’ve already had a place for yourself set up, so that you can watch?” Geoff asks, pulling his arms together behind his back to pop his shoulder. He is finally awake enough to feel the chill in the air. Harvest season is nearly through. 

“Yes, a ways back, mind you. And like you I’ll be leaving tonight, I have things to attend to out west,” Burnie says, holding out an arm. Geoff clasps it in his own, and feels Burnie tug him into a short hug. This may be goodbye for yet another few months, and this meeting was very brief. “Take care, and choose wisely for our empire, brother.”

“As if any of my choices are anything but wise.” Geoff says, his voice airy. No one can say his choices aren’t. He is the Gods incarnate. He knows who is right and wrong for the temples of the Sun. “Faith bring you home, brother.”

Burnie smiles. “You get on that, then.”

\-----------

“This place is a dump; who the fuck decorated?” Michael asks, stepping past yet more wide open east facing windows. All around him is wood- wood beams holding up the ceiling, wooden chairs, wooden altar. All of it is carved into their idols and their messages, but none of it seems right. “You’d think they could afford to spend a little for the Gods, at least some quarry stone-”

“Not everyone lives by mountains Michael.” Gavin says, his accent making it seem like a flippant statement. 

“Yeah? Well even your region had a stone altar and some shells and pearls, dipshit.” Michael responds immediately, pausing to inspect the altar. All around it, spanning out in a circle, is a wooden platform. This space is for dancers- the prayer senders. He ignores Gavin saying ‘it was coral!’ as he leans down to test the planks with his hands. “I feel like this shit’s not going to be able to hold us up.”

Gavin is already on the platform, stepping this way and that. “Well maybe not you, with all your stomping and yelling. I’m sure it can hold normal dancers just fine.”

“You mean the average fish-face?” The other man retaliates, stepping up onto the platform and pressing all his weight on the beams. They are surprisingly sturdy, though they aren’t polished or pretty. “I think we can make this work.”

Gavin is still jumping around on the platform, making it shake. Michael waits for the perfect moment and then stomps his foot- the power of it missetting Gavin’s foot and sending him sprawling. They’re busy laughing as the Priestess finally appears with a small crowd of dancers behind her, all of them dressed much more plainly than Michael and Gavin. There is no gold, no bells. Embroidery only on the edges of the seams. Some have coins banded to their waists, a false jingle much deeper than Gavin’s bells. The main focus seems to be flowers as a decoration. The lads can spot white and orange petals, and somewhere a flash of red.

Gavin picks himself up and brushes himself off, trying to look dignified while Michael crosses his arms against his chest, brushing his vest to the side. Together they make a formidable image. The way they were acting when the dancers approached forgotten at once; to the dancers in front of them they are the God on Earth’s personal prayer vessels. They are his connection to the spiritual realm, and therefor have gone closer to the breath of the Gods than most of them will ever dream.

One of them, however, will soon join them.

“In proper lines.” Michael says without prompting, sending the group of young men and women into a frenzy as they attempt to form four lines in front of the palace dancers. They eventually form up, the shortest in front and the tallest in back. They keep their heads down, eyes on the ground. Gavin can see them peeking up through their eyelashes to get a glimpse of the men on the platform. It’s rather endearing.

The priestess has taken to her position next to the platform, standing off to the side to watch the proceedings. She is merely here to watch over the temple and perform the prayers that must be sung before the dancers can exit the building into the square and dance for the prince; but she looks as though she is here to make sure there is no fooling around as well. Her eyes seem to mark any dancer who tries to raise their head too far for a glance at Michael and Gavin. Michael suspects that they were even more rowdy before, but that is to be expected.

“Today you will dance the dawn in front of the Prince. We will lead you in the movements once you have come forward, after we greet the sun, and the Gods will choose one of you to join us in sending them prayers.” Michael says. His voice is curt again, official. There is none of the teasing in it that he uses when talking to Gavin. “The Prince will know who they have chosen, and he will call you out. It may take minutes, or hours. It is our responsibility to keep dancing no matter the time. Your region depends on you, today, to send their prayers.”

“Don’t be frightened.” Gavin says suddenly, ignoring the look Michael shoots him for interrupting. “Just... Don't be scared.”

A few of the dancers shuffle their feet, as though responding to the encouragement. Michael turns to the Priestess.

“Lead us in the prayers.”

\---------------

Geoff knows that there is little left to be done. He has made sure that the servants know to pack up the rooms and prepare the caravan for his return to the palace, his own private wagon as well as the one for his lads are to be cleaned and restocked- The boys will no doubt have things to discuss with whoever the prince chooses in the next few hours. He finds himself daydreaming of home as he sits under a canopy on a pile of loose pillows and silk, the opening closed until he has to show himself.

The sound of people is everywhere, despite the ring of emptiness around his white canopy tent. Some of the villages have come out full force, and Geoff knows it is because their harvest has yet to begin, or has just finished. He doesn’t know which ones are here and which are not- he doesn’t have to. He only has to watch the dancers and make the choice.

There is the sound of drums, and Geoff steals himself for the front of the tent to be pulled back. Once it is he can see the Eastern sky in front of him. It has turned a lighter shade of blue and there is a hint of pink on the edges of the flat landscape, the first telltale signs of dawn’s approach. He can see an ocean of people ringed around the square, leaving space only on the path from the temple to the front of his tent, where the dancers will form.

“Still the drums.” Geoff commands, rising from his seated position and stepping forward toward the crowd. The noise of the drum ceases, as does the noise of the people.

The prince stands before them in full regalia, a white sleeveless tunic made of light gossamer, inlaid with gems the size of pinheads. He seems to glow in the presence of the lamps to either side of him, light bouncing off the gemstones in his clothing and his golden crown. He knows that his brother is somewhere on his side of the crowd, watching from his own tent with his officials. Geoff’s high priests are somewhere to the side, readying the music, moving the musicians into place on either side of the prince’s tent. Drummers and oud players, lutists, people with tambourines and cymbals and bamboo flutes- More priests and priestesses to sing- to call out the prayers.

When they begin to play, Geoff will feel it in his bones. He is suddenly very glad that Gavin had the foresight to bring him a glass of wine earlier, despite the fact he shouldn’t have been given one in the first place.

There is a chair for him near the front of his tent and he takes his seat. It gives him the best view of the area, the easiest line of sight. He can see his high priests Jack and Ryan to his left and right, changing the positions of the drummers so that they will not drown out the prayers from the crowd- nor hide the sound of the lutes from the dancers. When they are finished they come to stand near him, one on either side, and Geoff finally feels that it is time to start.

He holds up his left hand- empty of jewelry so that his tattoos are not hidden- and the chanting begins.

To his right, lead by Jack, the chorus of priests is singing. They repeat themselves over and over again, as if to draw something out from the temple in front of them. They are clapping, some stomping their feet, and the crowd is going along with it. Some who know it pick up the chant, others merely begin to clap.

At a break in the sound, as if it has woken up, the temple doors open wide.

The clapping seems to gather in tempo as Gavin appears in the well-lit doorway. His bells are far louder now, Geoff can hear them from where he sits, and he glimmers gold from the way he moves with the beat towards the tent and away from the temple. It is like the eyes of the boy who was once from a poor village are turned to emeralds, his hair the same gold as the jewelry on his hands, wrists, arms, neck- He is like the sun shining on the square; what they are all here to greet. As the priests change their words and their tone he moves differently- no longer just moving to get somewhere but now speaking with his body. His shoulder shake, his arms rise above his head. He seems to pause for a moment, light as air on the balls of his feet, just before the drums take over- And then he is a flurry of movement. One arm in the air, one to the ground- on the balls of his feet, then his heels- A spin, three spins, and a dramatic stop with a flare of the arms and his bells going mad; ringing over and over again every time he takes a step.

His hips swing and his back curves so that he is nearly tipped over, one hand on the ground, and then Michael appears in the doorway and starts his movement outside as the drums take over and the chanting stops to let them rise.

Michaels movements are slow compared to Gavin’s, but they have more force. He is power and fury, legs kicking so that any dust left in the cracks between stones in the square is lifted at his feet as he approaches. Both of his arms are straight out to the side as he reaches Gavin and begins to dance around him, using him as a center point. His hair is too dark of a red for it to light on fire, as the sun has yet to come above the fields, so he looks like a swirling ball of expression. He is Earth around the sun, his arms moving half as much as his legs as he continues to dance and kick up dust until he finishes by placing his hands on Gavin’s chest and leaping over him- landing with arms outstretched to the temple as the sun finally comes into view- shattering the darkness with a band of golden light. It sends the Palace Dancers into a shimmering display where they remain until a song picks up once more, with different music and a different voice.

Ryan leads now, his hands in front of him holding a bowl of coins which he uses to make a shaking sound between his verses, like a beggar asking for money. The music picks up around his chanting, slow and wandering, and the temple doors are crowded once more. The lines of dancers show their faces, stepping forward in time with Ryan’s shaking bowl. It is the beggars song, and that is what they are. 

The prince’s dancers are always from the poorest regions, they are woefully human. They need the Gods to survive, like any other person in the empire, and they will represent forever the prayers of their region- the needs of the most needy- for the rest of their lives. Michaels mining region, which lost track of their lines of ore and nearly starved until Michael was chosen and they discovered diamonds where there had once only been iron- Gavin’s coastal fishing area which had been ravaged by storms, who would never have succeeded in rebuilding their boats or their homes in time for the new season until Gavin was chosen and they found a cache of Pearls and long forgotten sunken gems. Now the prince had come to the Harvest region, which suffered from drought and disease, and he would take a dancer who could show the rest of the pantheon the needs of the region, in hopes that they would heal the sick and feed the wheat and the grapes- the orchards and the fields. 

One of the twenty before the prince, all of whom had stopped in place as Ryan’s voice trailed off and his coins stopped shaking, will save their home.

Geoff stands from his seat, hooded eyes looking out at the crowd of lowered heads that surround him, and raises his hand again. Gavin and Michael come forward immediately, moving through the other dancers to end up in front of the prince; they turn to look at the people who have followed them out from the temple, and then raise their arms as high as they can go.

The drum beat crashes down hard, and then it is merely an attempt for the new dancers to mimic the movements that the men from the palace are making. It is a dance that they all know, a simple prayer that every child can understand. They ask for wisdom and for guidance with every heavy footfall, every movement of an arm to touch the sky or the ground.

And the prince watches.

All of the dancers can keep up, all of them are on beat- on time; but anyone can do this dance. Anyone can ask for wisdom- Geoff is looking for the person who can make the message clear. He will not get his answer during this dance, but likewise neither Michael nor Gavin were chosen during the first prayer. It took longer, more looking. As the drums halt and the dancers stop, Gavin and Michael turning toward Geoff for an answer, he gives them no response. They turn back to the dancers and raise their arms again, and the dancers comply. To his side, Jack presses the musicians to start another beat, and opens his own mouth to lead the chorus.

The next prayer is harder- it will lead to an answer.

It was in the song of blessings that Geoff spotted Michael, his eyes staring straight ahead and his feet moving as quickly as ever, even as other dancers were slowing down and gasping for water- begging to stop. It was during the song of blessings that Geoff saw the glint of the copper bell that Gavin had hidden in his hand for good luck- grasped tightly so that it wouldn’t sound off as he moved to spin with the rest of the dancers.

It is during the song of blessings that Geoff finally sees the roses.

It has always been the little things to Geoff. The little things show him the design of the Gods and what they want to happen. It is the reason he refuses to consult stars- because stars are so vast and infinite. He is much more likely to consult a pile of stones in the gardens or the sound that wakes him from a dream. The roses are a little thing that strikes him hard, and he sits down to watch the dance more carefully and figure out why he noticed.

There are twenty dancers, most of whom are keeping time with Gavin and Michael as well as any palace dancer. That leaves five or so who are doing less than stellar. The first of them is a small girl with peach skin who looks like she hasn’t danced since she was four, she already looks sick from the action of twirling- he hopes she doesn’t collapse. Two of the four men who aren’t doing well are hindered by their size. The harvest region is made primarily of strong backs, not lithe dancing bodies. Geoff recognizes the faces of men who are trying but cannot get their bodies to obey them. His eyes move on.

The other boy is of no consequence to Geoff, he is doing well except at maintains a pace a second behind the rest. It is the fifth dancer who has captured his attention. His head is crowned with roses instead of a band of fabric, and around his neck the same flowers bounce in time with his movements. 

The movements themselves are clumsy, an attempt but not a success, and judging by the pain in the boys eyes he is embarrassed by his dancing. Rather than hide his face, however, he is looking with regular interval to the sky, to the temple, to the leading dancers- He is looking for answers and for a way to keep going.

It’s impressive, and futile, and Geoff’s eyes are growing weary of watching the dark boy dance and wandering off until something happens to throw him off guard. Michael and Gavin both make a spectacular spin, one leg each up in the air before landing on the ground safely, and the other dancers attempt to comply. Sixteen land it perfectly. The two large men make an attempt and stumble. The peach girl nearly retches.

The boy with the roses loses his crown.

It is a moment of clarification, which leads to Geoff leaning forward to watch as the boy immediately recognizes that the crown has left his head- and in keeping with the dance, trying to stumble along, he stumbles forward and catches the ring of flowers on his wrist, gripping them as if they are a life-preserver. It causes him to miss a spin, but he tries his best to ignore his mistake and keep going. The prince doesn’t need to see any more.

Geoff holds up his right hand in a fist, and the music stops and the voices stop and the crowd is silent. The dancers in front of him stop and stand in place breathing heavy- Gavin and Michael turned to look backwards at the prince with the question on their lips that he is here to answer.

The chair rocks slightly as Geoff stands and turns to his dancers, crossing his arms over his chest and walking past them toward the sun and the temple. He consults the flowers crawling up the eastern wall, their red petals and prickling thorns glaringly bright as the sun becomes a whole circle on the horizon. He has his answer.

Turning only halfway, one arm still clasped over his chest, he raises his finger to point at the boy that they covered in roses and says the word which has changed two lives and will now change a third.

“Him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The next chapter will be Ray’s perspective of events)
> 
> (I imagine Michael's dancing to be more akin to the Masculine Tribal Style of Belly Dancing that is what I’ve seen most of here in America, and I feel he has a focus on his footing and pressure rather than movement. Gavin’s style, to me, is much more the traditional Egyptian Solo style, which is pretty enough on it’s own that you don’t need a group of people behind you mimicking your moves. I still haven’t figured out Ray’s style, mostly because he’s still the bumbling dance-fail in the prompt. <3 Sorry Ray.
> 
> I ended up spending a ton of time today looking up music to go with this prompt. The first song on the list is Siko Diamonto by Stelios Katsianis and the main progression it’s what Gavin is playing on the Oud (the string instrument) and then the rest are in order of the ceremony dances. Gavin and Michael’s dance is based on Bounce by Solace, followed by Beggars Lullaby [by the same artist] for Ryans song and then the two other dances are Dance Zulu by African Drums and Blessings by Solace. The playlist is on my Spotify and I’ll link it under my fanfiction tag if anyone is interested in listening. The other songs on the list will come into play in later chapters.)


	3. My feet are Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (As always, please visit [Rai](http://raithehaiku.tumblr.com/) who started it all.)

There is very little that is interesting about riding on a wooden cart behind an ox for Ray. Every bump in the road is harsh on his back and the Ox smells just as bad on the dirt path to the Sun Temple as it does when he rides behind it with the iron hoe to plow the fields in early spring. He hasn’t been able to lay down to spread the bumps through his entire frame, rather than letting them focus on his tail bone, because the sigils on his arms are still sticky.  He understands now why his mother and grandmother woke him up a mere hour after he fell asleep to start working on him; nothing would have been finished otherwise. As it is, he hopes that everything is dry by the time they get to their destination.

They are nearly done with the two hours it takes to get to the temple, and when they arrive he is certain there will be another few hours of preparation. He’s been told by Dave, the boy who went to the Sun celebration two years before, that there will be prayers to sing before they even get to dance. Ray is ready for much more than that. Dave’s task was to represent their village and nothing more. 

Ray’s task is to dance for the entire region, and if the Gods decide they like his spunk, to do so for the rest of his life.

He does not hold his breath on that account. His grandmother may have faith that he can do what is needed, but Ray knows he is lucky when he lands a spin without tripping. Work has left little time for dancing in the wheat villages; they barely do much more than sing a few songs while working on celebration days, and leave the dancing to the children and the prayers to the elderly. He hopes he can remember the opening dance for temple, because even now it’s hazy in his head.

They are farther now from the village than Ray has ever been--which means he finally has a distraction from the monotonous ride. His eyes are everywhere, on the road and on the fields (these fields are empty, and he silently hopes for the sake of those who live here that it is because they have finished harvesting) and on the people he can now see every few hundred yards.

People spot their cart and wave, nearly unbalancing their offerings for the Ceremony or the children they are carrying on their shoulders. He knows he is out in the open now, where people can spot him as a dancer for the ceremony by the clothes he wears, but it is still odd to have so much attention on him. He waves back, though, if only to see the people smile. Perhaps if these people believe he can dance for them, he will be able to. They are as great of a good luck charm as the flowers around his neck, and he can use all the help he can get.

His father distracts him, pointing toward the east, and Ray can finally see the very top of the temple appear in front of him. It looms out of the darkness with a lantern on it’s highest point; brightening the place where the sun is meant to rise.

It is the largest and most decorative building he has ever seen, even from this distance. It out-heightens the grainery by two-fold, his home by three, and if he were to stand next to it he feels like he might be dwarfed permanently. It is extravagant, all glossed wood sculptures and carvings. This is his region’s testament to the Gods, and he wonders how they could want to live anywhere else. If this is the extravagance of his poor and desolate homeland, how must the temple of the prince compare?

They must leave their cart just outside of the town which surrounds the temple because there are no carts allowed in today. The streets are to remain as clear as possible (so that more people can fit), so Ray and his father tie up their ox with a few others near a trough and head off on foot. They can’t possibly get lost when the Temple looms over them so easily from the center of an explosion of color. There are tents everywhere and stalls off to the side of the streets. People are selling fruits and vegetables, idols, bells and whistles, cloth, and anything else that could possibly be needed to enjoy the Sun Celebration.

There are a pair of well-dressed priests taking down names for songs to one side of the temple, asking for nothing but a coin in return, so Ray’s father takes a moment to step over and add his family to the list. The priest, seeing Ray standing behind his father dressed in ceremonial clothes, waves off the coin that is offered.

“No, please keep it.” Jack says, his smile a flash of white. “Your son will be helping to send these prayers; you needn’t pay.”

Ray smiles, taking the encouragement the smile gives him, and after his father is done writing down names they come to the temple doors and there is nothing left but for Ray to go inside. He stares at his father for a moment, not sure how to proceed, then feels the pressure of his father’s hand on his shoulder. No words, as usual, but it’s just what Ray needs. He heads into the Temple with his head held high, smiling.

\------

There are twenty of them, sitting together in the temple’s preparation room with a priestess standing over them. She glares if they become too loud. Ray has spent the past hour watching the other dancers and keeping silent, trying to take everything in.

Some of the other dancers are obnoxious. They talk about how they never stop dancing and are always praying to the Gods for deliverance. Deliverance from pestilence, and plague, and all manner of things that don’t seem to be a problem in their village specifically to begin with. At least not for them. They are the pride of their villages--and Ray wonders if they’ve all left someone like him behind in their town today so that they could dance for the prince instead.

He sits next to a girl with dark hair, who looks like she could dance them all into the ground, because she doesn’t speak. She merely plays with the little white flowers covering her wrists. There are two boys the size of oxen who are cousins talking behind him, trying to decide if they can get their parents something from a stall as a surprise. There is a small girl with peach skin sitting on the other side of Ray with her head in her hands, like she wants to be sick. He recognizes the hunger in her eyes; her village must not be doing any better than his.

The real entertainment in the room is still the structure itself, and Ray has taken to memorizing the patterns of the carvings. He’s decided that he’ll take them home with him and try to put them on paper from memory so that he can share with his mother and grandmother what he’s seen. His grandmother might even be able to use it as inspiration for her lace. That’s a good thing that can come out of this, rather than embarrassing himself trying to dance, so he’ll think of that.

The energy in the room changes, so Ray focuses on a boy and a girl who sit across from him, two of the obnoxious group. They’re talking about something that has everyone’s attention.

_“-like a God already! They say that his arms are covered in sigils that are permanent. They never change.”_

_“And he has two personal dancers already, one from each year past. They’re the greatest dancers in the world. The newer one, Gavin, he was able to end a drought in two steps!”_

_“And the other man, Michael--anyone who messes up a dance around him is shunned. He can’t stand to see things go wrong. He’ll blame you for the next disaster if you trip!”_

They’re laughing about it, but Ray can feel his chest tightening. The dancers at the palace must be the best, because they are the prince’s, but could they really end a drought in two steps or curse you for tripping? It seems illogical, because dancers are meant to be vessels. The prince might be able to curse someone though. He’s the closest thing to a God they have.

“Settle yourselves,” the priestess in the corner murmurs. The talk in the room goes down a decibel, but doesn’t stop.

_“They wear gold as though it were nothing to them, and gems that could outshine the stars!”_

_“They’ve danced for days at a time--not stopping for food or water.”_

_“That’s what’s expected.”_

_“I could do it.”_

_“No you couldn’t, but I could!”_

There is a cough and the speakers turn to the Priestess, who has once again turned her eyes into fires. Everyone lowers their heads; whether they were talking or not.

“These men are the vessels of the prince. They dance the prayers of an empire--for the Gods of man. Show them the respect you’re meant to,” she says. Her tone makes Ray think he’d rather keep his head down the entire day than face her. “It is about time, gather anything that’s yours. We have to start the preparations.”

Ray has not removed anything on his person so he stands and waits as the rest of the dancers pick up their wire jewelry or flower bracelets. A few of them pull on coin belts, which shake as they shimmy and produce ample noise. All in all he finds everyone else at least some bit more impressive than himself, and they all have the added benefit of a light complexion. He almost feels like the chicken back home, the only one with speckled feathers out of twelve pure white birds.

The priestess waves her arm through the air, says, “Follow me,” and the group follows. There are sounds in the main temple and it is obviously two voices. One is loud, rough, the other with an accent that Ray has never encountered. When they reach the doorway, both voices, especially the louder, have dissolved into laughter. When his group is seen, though, trapezing past chairs to stand at the foot of the platform, the laughter ends.

Ray ducks his head down to the floor and watches through his eyelashes as the smaller one picks himself up from the floor and straightens his clothing out. He is dressed in such extravagance that Ray has to re-think what extravagance is. There is pure white cloth on his legs and purple gossamer across his chest and back. His waist and wrists are covered in bells. The man next to him, who stands with arms crossed, is dressed similarly (except there is an absence of bells) and instead of gossamer across a bare chest he wears a vest. Both of them are covered in gold, just as the obnoxious girl earlier had said, and it makes him wonder what else could be true.

“In proper lines.”

Ray scatters with the rest, trying to figure out what a “proper” line is. When the obnoxious group immediately takes up the front of four rows he pushes for the back. The less of his embarrassing dancing that is seen the better it is for everyone. Let the obnoxious people have the world--at least they can twirl.

His heart is beating fast once he realizes just who is standing in front of him. The prince’s dancers. The prayer vessels. The chosen.

What comes out of the red-head’s mouth solidifies his fears that more than just the speak about gold and gems was true. Michaels voice is angry--mean. Ray would not put cursing bad dancers past him.

“Today you will dance the dawn in front of the prince. We will lead you in the movements once you have come forward, after we greet the sun, and the Gods will choose one of you to join us in sending them prayers.”

It’s a lot to take in, and Michael is speaking quickly. It would be easier if Ray wasn’t afraid of taking more than just a peek to try and see his face.

“The Prince will know who they have chosen, and he will call you out. It may take minutes, or hours. It is our responsibility to keep dancing no matter the time. Your region depends on you today to send their prayers.”

As if the first half of his speech hadn’t been enough, now the fate of the whole region rests on their shoulders. Ray can feel himself tensing, and he almost wants to pull the roses off of his head, hand them to the black-haired girl, and walk out of the temple. He would rather become an outcast than mess things up today, when everything is at its most important. He would rather run and end things on his own terms than, essentially, lose.

“Don’t be frightened.”

Ray glances up, eyes catching onto Gavin for a millisecond before he forces them back down. His stuttering heart pauses, as if deciding whether or not to continue running at a mile a minute.

“Just... don’t be scared.”

It isn’t much for encouragement, but Ray knows that he’s not the only one left shuffling his feet as Michael calls for the prayers to begin. He’s been told that everything rests on his shoulders and that if he messes up he’ll be cursed for eternity. His region is dying, his own home and their crop threatened by locusts and worms. He eats little, sleeps less, and works the fields night and day for his family’s survival--but these things are not the only things he’s been given. He’s been given his grandmother’s blessing, his father’s strength, his mother’s love. Now, he’s been given hope, in the form of a few small words of kindness.

When the priestess raises her hands and her voice to the ceiling of the temple, singing a prayer he knows from the fields which they use to keep from losing strength in the heat of the afternoon sun, he sings along.

\---

Ray has been told to stay in his line as he walks out the doors, to keep in step with the music and to keep his eyes on the ground until they reach their stopping point. Outside he can hear the crowd, and in front of him he can see Gavin and Michael preparing themselves for their dance. Gavin is nervously picking at something on his partner’s shoulder--muttering about sleeping conditions--while Michael seems more calm and merely focuses on checking Gavin’s bells. He even stills Gavin’s hand on his shoulder and stares at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow, until the other boy relents and stops swatting at his vest.

A barrage of drums comes from outside the door and Michael is pushing Gavin into position. He remains off to the side, out of the way like the other dancers. Gavin is all nerves as he runs his hands along the lines of bells on his waist and twitches his arms. His feet tap the ground nervously, cloth shoes kicking up a bit of dust. In the dim light of the temple Ray can see Michael mouthing something to him, and Gavin finally stills for good. He faces the doors as the drums outside cease completely, and takes his stance.

Later, Ray can only describe the change that comes over Gavin as the work of the Gods. The boy no longer moves except to breathe, his eyes do not glance from place to place in the room, nor do they search for Michael’s face. He seems serene until the sound of voices takes over outside.

It is not like the last round of voices. The sounds coming from outside are chants that hang beautifully in the air and soar to the temple walls. The priests are singing, begging for the temple doors to open. When they pause for breath, Gavin answers their prayer.

From outside the doors are thrown open and Gavin rushes out. He moves like a leaf trapped in a whirlwind from what Ray can see from the side of the doors and past the other dancers. They crowd together in their area of the temple and watch Gavin spin and duck and move. None of them notice Michael moving toward the doors until the drums have changed and Gavin is still again--and now they watch the other dancer.

Michael is nothing like Gavin. A few of the other dancers seem in awe of how the rage they saw brewing under the surface earlier has become part of a dance, part of a prayer. Though nothing he does is elegant it cannot help but be seen as such because the prayer and the dance are one thing together. The priests still sing and Michael dances until the sun has appeared and the priestess is pushing the dancers to their place in front of the wide open doors.

Ray’s head goes down again, and he stares at his feet. He tells himself not to trip, not to fall. He mustn't do anything that would endanger the prayers of the people. He must make sure the Gods receive them; that is his only priority.

At the sound of coins he and the other dancers raise their heads and parade forward. He stares ahead, though he knows his father must be somewhere in the crowd watching. That is enough to make him nervous again, and he nearly stubs his toe on a loose stone in the paving. It is a close miss, but he survives to come to a halt in front of a glimmering white tent. In front of it, sitting down, must be the Prince. He cannot see the man until he stands, and then Ray is truly awed. The prince is what they said he would be, staring down at them with arms covered in sigils more complex than any on Ray’s arms--images transcribed from stories of the people laid out in plain sight on his person. He nearly misses the signal to raise his head as Michael and Gavin come forward.

He stumbles into the proper stance, standing with his arms to his side and his legs shoulder-width apart, and watches as the prince’s dancers do the same. They then raise their arms, and for a moment Ray sends his own prayer to the heavens before he raises his own and the first drum beat comes crashing down.

The dance comes back to him from his childhood almost immediately and he does not hesitate to sigh in relief. Of course they would begin with an easy dance, something they all could do. Not to mention that a call for wisdom was a good idea, when so many of them had so little training. As the drum beats pick up in pace Ray even smiles, arms in the air, until the song ends and he is left standing there with the Prince staring at the dancers and his dancers staring at him. The whole crowd is watching, waiting.

Had he decided? Was it over already?

The answer must be no, because Michael and Gavin are turning back and returning to the starting position. Ray copies them, knowing that whatever is coming next must be harder, faster paced. The rest of the dancers are coiling their arms or shaking their legs in excitement. Ray feels like he’s going to be sick.

The music starts again with the priest’s chorus, and Ray struggles to keep up. It is much faster than the song before this, and there are more spins, more hand movements. Gavin and Michael seem to be moving with ease through what has Ray bouncing all over the place. His roses are nearly flying with his movements and he knows he must look awful dancing. He just isn’t practiced enough, not truly as agile as he looks. His focus is so great--staring at Gavin in an attempt to harness some sort of resemblance to the dance, the temple in an attempt at mutiny, the sky for a short prayer--that he cannot see the Prince staring at him.

He also does not see his crown of roses go flying until he attempts to land the next spin, arms waving as he very nearly face-plants. He panics when the flowers come off his head. They are his grandmother’s gift. He has plans for the crown--to dry it in the sun so that he can hang it on the wall in his bedroom and look at it as a keepsake. The bright red will cheer him up when the next pestilence plagues his town and they need to work extra hours; the color will keep him company the next time he has to sleep for days to fight off an infection of the chest that should be deadly.

He grabs at the roses, ignoring the spin that everyone else is doing, and feels them come to a stop along his wrist. With them safe he can focus again, and he is trying to gather his mind up and copy Michael’s movements when the music comes to a halt and the Prince’s dancers stop moving completely, turning fully around to stare at the prince. Ray clutches at his crown of roses, knowing that they have cost him his chance. It was a thin chance, something that was not quite there, but he knows he has ruined it. He also knows he could not have allowed the crown to fall and be trampled under the feet of the dancers like so many of the other floral decorations have. They litter the ground and smell sweet--crushed before they were even fully bloomed.

The prince is moving, so Ray turns his head to watch. The older man has his arms crossed and he seems to be looking at the sun--questioning its motives. Ray wonders if he is able to speak to it, ask it why the Gods have chosen who they will. He wonders if they can change his mind.

Ray watches the prince lift his hand and point--and for a moment he thinks that the black-haired girl he still stands next to has gotten what she deserves. He is ready to bow his head to her and smile, congratulate her on her new status and send his prayers to her so that they can be answered. She will look beautiful in between Gavin and Michael, her black hair a striking difference to the red and the gold.She will be the quiet to Michael’s rage, and the calm to Gavin’s nerves. Perhaps she will wear green gossamer, and it will not clash with the purple and gold and blue that is the majority of what the two dancers wear now.

The crowd is whispering as he daydreams, and Ray knows that he has missed his cue. He turns to the girl behind him to bow his head--but all he sees is the top of her black hair. Swinging himself around all he sees are the other dancers’ heads and the Prince’s Dancers confusion, and he too is confused until he turns all the way around and sees the prince’s finger again. It does not waver as Ray holds his right hand up to his chest in confusion--as though he could feel the mark that the prince has laid on him.

The crowd whispers, but the prince has chosen.

The prince has chosen him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always find me on [Tumblr](http://iwatchedyoufall.tumblr.com/)


	4. The Dancer's New Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize so very sincerely for how long I took with this chapter. That said, I hope to never have that long of a break in this story again. I've got the Outline all sorted now, so we're good to go. Enjoy the story. :)

===============================

Chapter 3 - The Dancer’s New Clothes

===============================

Ray does not remain frozen in place very long. Before he knows it, before the whispers have quieted, there are hands on his elbows. The priests that refused his father’s coin earlier have appeared on either side of him and are pulling him along toward the Prince; truly pulling, because Ray has forgotten for the moment that he has legs. He remembers the appendages halfway to their destination and begins walking at the High Priests’ pace.

Ryan and Jack bring him out into the middle of the square and then move back a few steps, leaving Ray in front of the Prince with nothing between them. Geoff has lowered his hand and seems to be musing over several things. Out of respect Ray drops his head low and waits. Both of the boy’s hands are clasped to the crown of roses and his knuckles are growing more pale by the second. Nothing is happening -- but that nothing is happening at too fast of a pace. The song, the dance, and the Prince’s words are melting together in his head and making his thoughts fuzzy.

There is a sudden, slight pressure on his scalp.

Ray’s eyes move up to focus on the arm that is stretched out in front of him. The designs covering it are even more intricate up close. He can recognize the Crown of the Sky, covered in the Dragon’s jewels. It’s a story his grandmother told him as a child. He can see the blade of the first emperors, who later became the first King and Prince; the High God’s lance, the chariot of the warrior Goddess, the fish who swallowed a man and spit him out a prophet... All the stories that formed the history of their lands, written out on a living man’s skin.

No, not a man.

A Prince.

Geoff's hand is on the crown of Ray’s head, the heel of the palm just barely touching his exposed forehead. The crowd around them has gone silent and Ray can feel his stomach turning to knots. He is sick with fear. The Prince is not one to make errors, but surely he is now recognizing his mistake. Ray cannot be the savior of these lands. He does not deserve to dance in the Palace Temple before the Pantheon of the Gods. Every second of the Prince’s silence proves that he is not worthy; why else would he remain quiet, when he has the power to speak and change everything?

Ray is about to fall to the ground in penance, to escape the disgrace of being a failure before he starts, and the negativity of his own thoughts, when the Prince finally speaks.

“I’ve chosen you.” Geoff says.

Ray wants to take a step backwards and then run. He feels fingers in his hair that press down and hold him in place, as if the Prince knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“I have chosen you to send their prayers. To help me save your lands.”

Ray can’t help himself. He was born a talker -- a young boy with a mouth smarter and faster than his brain. He spits out the question before he can stop himself.

“Why?”

If Geoff had not smiled he wouldn’t have realized he’d said anything. As it is, he feels his cheeks darken in shame. He has questioned someone so far above him in station that he should be struck down on the spot. Instead he only feels the fingers in his hair loosen.

“Because you had to ask exactly that.”

Geoff takes a step backwards, removing his hand from Ray’s head, and Ray feels himself wobble. He is lucky that the priests have approached again. One of them puts a hand on his shoulder and it grounds him, allowing him to stay standing and watch as the Prince walks to the center of the square. The crowd is still quiet, and Ray realizes now that his conversation with the prince was in whispers, so quiet that no one else could hear it. Now, when the Prince speaks, he shouts so that everyone can hear.

“Your lands have been fraught in these past years with drought, pestilence, and disease. You have suffered, and I can not stand by your suffering.” Geoff shouts. Several people in the crowd cry out before he continues. “These lands do not deserve this punishment. You have worked, and worked, and prayed -- but know that now your prayers will be heard.” The Prince’s hands are in the air, gesturing. “The Gods can not ignore the ones they chose, and you have seen that they have chosen!”

There are more cheers from the crowd where earlier there were only confused whispers. Ray can hear his Father’s voice among the rest. The tightness in his chest is slowly un-knotting and leaving him with only more questions. What now? What will happen to him now that he is chosen? He cannot escape this duty, nor -- he realizes -- does he want to. This is not so much a sacrifice as an honor. It is a privilege. The people in the crowd are cheering because he exists.

The Prince has lowered his hands from the air, and as he stares out at the mass of people before him he points back toward the group he left to the side of the square. Ray and the Priests, joined now by Gavin and Michael, wait just as anxiously as the rest to hear what he has to say.

“Mark these men.” Geoff says, heavy eyes focused on the people around him.

“They are the keys to your salvation.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Gavin and Michael watch as Ray is herded between Jack and Ryan into the temple again, and then at a nod from Geoff they follow behind. Gavin is once again all nervous energy, bouncing on his heels with every step so that his bells never cease making noise. Michael would, normally, call him out on how annoying it is. Today he is much too preoccupied with the thought of their new partner.

They’re led by the Priestess to the back room where earlier the dancers gathered and left to their own devices. Jack and Ryan, done pushing Ray along, have opted toward sitting down in the corner where two chairs have been offset from the rest and shuffling through papers covered in writing. Ryan has picked up a feather pen -- writing down what Jack dictates in a quiet tone. Ray is looking uncertain as to what he should do. He’s glancing back and forth between the High Priests and the chairs in the center of the room where he sat before the whole thing started that morning.

“What’s your name, then?” Gavin asks, plopping down into a mass of arms and legs on a pile of pillows that have been put on the floor at the side of the room. Ray looks startled, and Gavin grins as he makes himself comfortable. It takes Ray a minute to think of the answer to the question, leaving Michael time to sit himself down much more properly than Gavin, in a cloth-backed chair to the left of his nest..

“Ray.” Ray stutters out. He seems to figure out the rest a second later. “Ray Narvaez. The second.”

“Ray...” Gavin mutters, looking off toward the ceiling. “Ray Navire... Nava-? Narvase... Nar---”

Though Gavin seems to be taking the introduction well (and there’s no harm in butchering Ray’s last name so far as he can see) Michael has yet to say anything. Ray is too nervous to glance at the man who had been so forward earlier in making sure everyone knew what was at stake. He fears may have been well founded, as he soon finds out.

“-vaesees? Nar-” Gavin continues.

“Gavin for fuck’s sake just say his name the right way.” Michael says. The look he shoots the other man seems near-livid. Gavin, however, seems far from frightened.

“It’s a bloody hard name!” Gavin says. He crosses his arms and looks back at Michael as though he’s the problem. “Like a tongue twister.”

“It’s just a fucking name-”

“Children.” A voice from the corner warns.

Concerned, Ray turns to see Jack and Ryan paused in their work. It is unclear who spoke, from Ray’s perspective, because he has heard little more than the Priests’ singing voices. Gavin and Michael seem less flustered at being chastised.

“Jack, tell Michael that he’s being uncivil.” Gavin says, crossing his arms.

“Uncivil? Who’s the one who can’t call the new guy by his name asshole?” Michael counters. There’s a tense moment where the two Dancers are stuck glaring at each other, mutual displeasure on their faces. Ray feels odd to be the cause behind it, and he’s still confused by the way they’re all acting. He’d expected the prayer vessels of the Prince to be more... Settled.

“I think you’d better just drop that and introduce yourselves properly.” Ryan says. His suggestion is simple, but both Gavin and Michael seem surprised by it. He raises an eyebrow. “I doubt you gave the Dancers your life stories this morning. You were both very focused on work.”

Ryan moves back to the papers and keeps writing, eyes on his own work. Michael takes the initiative to begin, as though it had been his idea all along.

“Michael Jones.” He says simply, looking away from Gavin to focus on Ray. “From the mountains. I was chosen two years ago by the Prince.”

“Give him a bit more than that, Michael!” Gavin says, grinning now. He holds out a long arm to shake Ray’s hand as he speaks. “Gavin Free, from the coastal islands. Chosen last year. I lived in a fishing village -- lots of storms there.”

“We haven’t had rain in months.” Ray says. Gavin immediately looks guilty, as though it’s his fault. He stops shaking Ray’s hand and folds his arms around his knees.

The awkward silence that follows is punctuated by the scraping of the feather pen and Jack’s mumbling. Michael coughs after a minute, looking toward the Priests.

Ryan sighs and pauses, looking up toward Ray. “Ryan Haywood.”

“Jack Pattillo.”

“Both born in the Palace and set on the path of religious glory from a young age. Jack was raised alongside the Prince and King.” Michael adds to the voices. He smiles at Jack’s questioning face. “What? I keep myself simple, doesn’t mean your stories have to be.”

Ray feels like his head is spinning, so he takes a seat on one of the wooden chairs in front of Michael and Gavin. There’s a lot to live up to in the room; prayer vessels and High Priests -- and an air about each one of them that screams ‘normal’ instead of ‘Holy’. It’s all very confusing.

“Bit mental, isn’t it?” Gavin asks quietly, staring at Ray in a conspiratorial way that makes it seem like the rest of the room can’t hear him, even though they obviously can. It’s otherwise silent.

Ray takes a moment to breath before he looks at Gavin. The day has been so hectic and it’s only an hour past dawn. He has danced, the Sun Celebration has begun, and he doesn’t even know what happens next. Honestly, ‘mental’ doesn’t cover half of it.

“Yeah. You could say it like that.”

Gavin nods like he understands and pulls his arms off his knees. “You look like you’re still processing all of it.”

Ray shrugs. It definitely hadn’t been what he was expecting, so far. He even says as much.

“Not exactly the... Band of serious and powerful prayer vessels I’ve imagined so far. No offense meant.” He holds up his hands, trying to be cautious.

Gavin chuckles, as though what Ray’s said is funny. “Yeah, well, it’s hard to explain. It wasn’t exactly what I expected either...”

“He didn’t figure out that he was allowed to speak to me without bowing for a week.” Michael adds, sounding pleased about it. Gavin turns a bit red and rubs the back of his neck, muttering something about respect. Michael turns to Ray.

“It’s not what you’d expect, being chosen. Either people think it’s going to be years and years of diligence and training -- Sacrifice and penance -- or they say that life turns into some breezy palace dream. It’s not either of those, but sort of both. We work, we do what we have to, but we were chosen to do this.” Michael touches his chest with a fist as he says this. “It’s not a hard thing, to do what you were born to do. You’ll figure that out eventually.”

Gavin is nodding, but Ray has his doubts.

“Did you even see me trying to dance out there? I’m a disgrace.” He whispers, glancing at the Priests in the corner of the room.

Gavin looks concerned. “Disgrace? You kept up well enough-”

“You’re definitely no professional.” Michael interrupts, looking toward the door as he hears footsteps approaching.

“Yet.” He adds, seeing Ray’s face falling deeper into despair. “You’ll get there. We all do in the end.”

The door opens as Michael’s words trail off, and the group watches as several people come rushing in. Among them are a woman and a man who have their hands absolutely full of fabric. It’s the same rich shades and bright white that Ray has seen on Gavin and Michael -- to a lesser extent on Ryan and Jack. Their focus is immediately on him, and he feels cornered.

“I definitely say Green, Kara. Look at his complexion!” The man rattles off, dropping the pile of fabric he’s been carrying onto a chair and stopping short of walking right next to Ray. The woman, Kara, does not have such qualms. She is already next to Ray, picking up his wrist to hold a red swatch up to his arm.

“Jordan I am not arguing this. Green is too obvious- I understand where you’re coming from but come on.” Kara says.

The man named Jordan sneers. “Red is too flashy. Perhaps for one of the larger celebrations, one day, but today- Green.”

The way Jordan says it has a sort of finality to it, and he’s already digging around in the pile of Fabric he brought with him to find a length of string marked with measuring numbers. Beside Ray, Kara has dropped the swatch of red and put her hands on her hips, looking put-upon. Ray can see Gavin rolling his eyes dramatically at Michael, and Michael’s response is startlingly similar. Apparently this is not their first time with the two buzzing bits of energy.

“Uh-” Ray says, rubbing the wrist Kara had picked up with his other hand. “Green for what?”

Jordan stops what he’s doing and straightens his spine, looking toward Ray almost as if he hadn’t realized he could talk.

“Clothes, of course.” He responds, holding up the bright green gossamer he’d been alluding to. “You’d look odd next to Gavin and Michael in all... That.”

His words are accompanied with a gesture of the hand that Ray assumes is meant to point out his threadbare, hand-me-down ceremony clothes. For a short moment he thinks of defending the clothes and insisting that they be what he wears, but the thought is not as strong as the envy he feels for the soft looking pants and shoes that Gavin and Michael wear. Not to mention how he loathes the ugly yellow he currently wears.

Jordan gets to work, moving back and forth from his pile of cloth to Ray. A few times he asks Kara’s opinion, on one occasion he interrupts Ryan and Jack for theirs, and he continuously looks back and forth from Michael and Gavin to Ray. It is important that they look cohesive.

While Jordan works, Ray listens.

“I can’t wait to get home.” Kara says, leaning back in her seat with her arms outstretched to hold the green gossamer in place as Jordan cuts a length of it with a steady hand. “I had to leave so much undone to get out here in time and I just know that someone at the palace has done something to my rooms by now.”

Behind her, Gavin is attempting to hold back laughter. Ray figures that means Kara’s assumption is anything but unfounded.

“You shouldn't worry about that, Kara.” Jack says, crossing something off from the pile of papers Ray has finally recognized as the prayer roster from earlier that morning. The priests are copying it by hand, so that there is more than one sheet. “I’m sure the boys will behave themselves while you’re gone.”

Jordan snorts as he works, defending the action when Kara glares at him. “What? Knowing them, they've filled your rooms with frogs this time. You’ll be lucky if you don’t need a new bed.”

Kara purses her lips, folding the unused bit of green fabric she holds back into a proper square.

“Frogs wouldn't be as bad as the time Chris was waiting under my writing desk for me to arrive. I nearly had a heart attack.” She says.

Gavin laughs as if the memory is a good one. Ryan chuckles.

“You would think-” Kara says, pulling out the white fabric from her pile for Jordan. “That our temple guards would have better things to do than terrorize me while I try and schedule prayers.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

The new voice is surprising in a way that makes Ray drop his head immediately. He assumes the rest of the room has done the same, because Geoff sighs and waves his hands, muttering about formalities. When everyone is back to their usual state, working or lounging around, he speaks again.

“So how are we doing?” Geoff asks, his voice no more official than the last time.

Jack speaks first, shuffling around the papers he and Ryan have been working on for the past hour and a half.

“The prayers have been copied down to be spread among the priests for the ceremony. They’re relatively split up, since there were so many requests, but they’ll be able to be sung properly.” He says, tapping his knuckles against the table. “We have enough presence to get things done properly.”

“Good. You?” The prince asks, looking at Jordan and Kara. Jordan smiles to show off the pins littering his mouth, Kara rolls her eyes.

“On schedule. Jordan will be finished with the new Dancer’s garments within the hour, and then we can keep moving on. Don’t forget that there’s a blessing to be given to the temple-” She adds, seeing Geoff turning away. “It should be in the convoy still.”

Geoff nods, muttering to himself as if he needs to try and remember that on top of a thousand other things, until he spots Gavin and Michael off to the side of the room lounging around. “Just look at you two.” He says, as though it explains everything.

Gavin grins. “We’re a joy to behold, Highness.”

“Practically perfect.” Michael adds, smiling just as big as Gavin.

Geoff sighs and scratches at the back of his neck, rolling his eyes up to look at the ceiling.

“Perhaps,” He says, turning to look at Ray. “You could teach them a little bit about respect and humility.”

Gavin and Michael gasp as if stung, Michael clutching at his chest.

“How could you-”

“We’ve done nothing but serve you-”

“Done everything you asked-”

“And you say such hurtful things.”

Geoff sighs and covers his eyes as the Dancers begin to laugh, their dramatic words echoing flat in the room. The group of people surrounding Ray is not anything like what he expected of those who lived in the palace and worked the Temple -- but even so they fit into the roles they play so easily. Even as Gavin and Michael laugh Ray can tell they are doing so to calm Geoff’s nerves, to distract him from his work. Kara and Jordan smile and keep their heads high, but they haven’t once spoken out of turn. It will take time, he thinks, to acclimate.

But now, watching the room around him move and work together, he sees that he has a chance of belonging there.

“And that’s that.” Jordan says, moving back to look at Ray from a distance. He looks him up and down and then smiles, clapping his hands together. “All we need is the jewelry chest, there’s a few bangles and a circlet that will work perfectly with the green. Emeralds and rubies -- Kara you can have that splash of red--”

“The roses are red too.” Ray says, distracted by the gossamer floating across his back.

“Roses?” Jordan asks, looking confused. “No, no the circlet will be much better. Those are already wilting, look at them.”

Ray glances at his flower crown, and does see what Jordan means. The flowers have taken a heavy beating. Their petals are turning soft at the edges, darkening to brown, and one section of flowers has been pressed flat by Ray’s grip from catching them earlier. Ray doesn’t see the problem with them, they’re hardly ruined.

Jordan is turning away, calling out the door to someone who can bring in the box of jewelry he’d mentioned. Hoping he’s not overstepping his bounds, Ray counters the argument over the flowers.

“They’re not that badly wilted, and the pressed section can sit at the back of my head.” He says.

Jordan turns, looking bothered. Not angry, but all the same not used to being questioned. “It won’t look right. I’m telling you, the circlet --”

There’s a cough from the corner of the room, and everyone turns their heads to look at Geoff leaning against the wooden table, a hand holding a bundle of papers he’d been going through with Jack.

“Let him have his Roses, Jordan.”

“But, Highness-”

“Jordan.” Geoff says stiffly, and the tension in the room mounts. “Let him have his roses.”

Jordan looks to the floor, seemingly defeated, but Geoff isn’t done speaking.

“They’re the same as Gavin’s bells. They’re important, we can see that. Kara --” He says, looking toward the woman sitting down, still folding cloth. “See what we can do about fresh flowers.”

“Of course.” She says, standing up immediately. She begins pulling cloth into her arms, shoves the rest of it into Jordan’s, and marches him out the door. The room is silent for a moment, then Geoff gets back to speaking with Jack and Ryan. Their voices are whispers, so Ray turns to Gavin and Michael.

“Well, since you're ready enough, I think we should head out and begin prepping the platform.” Michael says, standing up and stretching his arms out. “Gavin, get a move on.”

Gavin sighs, pushing at the pillows he’s surrounded himself with. “Do we have to? The priests wanted to do it for us.”

Michael doesn’t look convinced, and he’s already pulling on Gavin’s arm. The jingling man rises without too much difficulty, though he’s still pouting. Ray follows as the two head toward the door, the three of them disappearing out into the temple to make preparations for the noon ceremony.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The ceremony itself, Ray finds, is not intolerable.

He is stiff the entire time, standing on the platform with Michael and Gavin. The other two dancers have no fear of the crowded temple or the loud drums, nor do they forget steps to their dances. Even the simplest dance is a struggle for Ray on the platform, but no one seems to notice or care. They all cheer, sing, and some even move along to the voices and the drums. Everyone is too happy, too focused on the ceremony to care that the boy the Prince chose to save them is near-useless.

But besides that he finds himself enjoying the temple. The music is loud enough that he can feel it in his bones, and because of what Gavin and Michael were able to drill into his head before the ceremony began he does not miss half the steps he could. For minutes at a time he can imagine doing this, dancing, for the rest of his life.

By the end of the ceremony, when the priests voices are raw and Ray’s calves are sore from using muscles he didn’t know he had, the people in the temple already look happier. They look healthier. It may well be wishful thinking, but Ray can believe that things will be getting better.

The drums halt the slow, meditative beat they’ve been in for the past ten minutes and Ray looks up to see Geoff coming down the center isle with a group of four men behind him. The men carry a large chest, like something out of a fairy-tale.

The chest is dropped on the platform, just to the right of Gavin and the left of Ray, and Gavin moves back as the Prince joins the dancers on the wooden dais. He’s looking at the chest and smiling. It makes Ray curious about what could possibly be inside.

“The hospitality you have shown me, the grace with which you have attended this event, and the overwhelming goodness of this region astounds me.” Geoff says, looking to the crowd. In the very front are the Temple keepers, behind them the dancers from earlier on. “Your poverty and your plight also astound me, in the opposite way. I would have it so that you never needed for anything again, but as a man on Earth it is not my place to give you that. The Gods will soon deliver, until then I hope that this blessing is enough.”

He steps backwards, and the men who earlier carried the chest lift the lid. Inside, nestled among silk and copper coins (known for luck) is an idol carved from solid wood, gilded with gold and bronze-leaf. The image is of a Rooster, bringer of the dawn, and it is the most beautiful thing Ray has yet seen from the hands of the palace.

“May the dawn-bringer guide you to a new, and prosperous living.” Geoff says.

The building erupts into jubilation.

Ray knows that the statue itself will outshine the whole Temple, but doubts anyone will care. Such a gift is unheard of for a poor region, especially since the whole room can guess at who’s hands it has been carved. The Prince’s wife is known to fill the whole of the Palace temple with her work -- that the Prince was willing to have one brought to their desolate region is cause enough for hope.

The people who celebrated with them at the noon ceremony are slow to leave the temple, so Ray is left standing with Gavin and Michael upon the dais as the building clears. The Prince has disappeared, gone as soon as he’d spoken a few more words of thanks, and Ryan and Jack are shaking hands and giving blessings as people leave. When the doors finally close Ray sinks thankfully to his knees, and then sits on the edge of the platform. Next to him, Gavin and Michael have begun to chatter.

“Do you think that-”

“Yes, Gavin, I’m sure there’s plenty in the caravan.”

“Top. How long until we leave, d’you think?”

“I dunno. I’m sure there’s stuff left to do-”

Michael trails off into silence, and Ray hasn’t been paying close enough attention to know why. Now he can hear the footsteps, though, and looks up to see Jack escorting his father towards the group. Ray doesn’t bother to wait, jumping from the edge of the platform onto the ground and leaping at the older man.

Narvaez the First only grins, clamping his big arms around Ray and holding tight. Ray could swear he’s been crying.

“It is time for me to go.” His father says, quietly.

Ray pulls back from the hug and is suddenly wary. He hadn’t thought about that, he hadn’t thought about the fact that he came here with only his father, and that he would not be accompanying him home.

“How will--” Ray starts, his father holds up a hand.

“Your mother and Grandmother, doubtless, are ready for this. They've always known more about the world than I have. They will be happy, to hear what has happened to you.” He says. “And I am not going alone. Nor with just our old Ox. The Dawn-Bringer will travel the villages of all the dancers, and it goes first to ours. With it’s honor guard.”

Ray tries to imagine the Rooster Idol among the village he grows up in an nearly laughs. Where will they even put the thing?

“I’ll miss you.”

Ray doesn't realize he’s said it until it’s past his lips. He wonders if it is too much; his father has never been big on words. Already in the past few minutes he’s spoken more than Ray has heard in a month from him before.

Ray’s father only smiles, bringing Ray in close for one more bone-crushing hug.

“We will miss you; but we will know that you are doing great things.”

They hold onto one another for a long minute, Ray feeling his eyes water from emotion, and when they finally pull apart Ray’s father has to look away. He departs with Jack, leaving the dancing boys alone with Ryan in the temple.

Ray feels a hand clamp tight to his shoulder and looks up to see Michael standing next to him.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Michael says.

Ray hopes he can believe him.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When Ray thought the Rooster Idol was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen made at the hands of the palace, he was naive. Now, looking at the row of carriages and caravans; horses and carts that make up the Prince’s traveling line -- he can say he’s seen everything.

He’s lead past the whole of the line with Michael and Gavin, people bowing their heads to them and pausing in their work to greet them. They walk until they reach near the front of the line, where two Caravans wait. The first is opulent, carved and gilded and all-over known to be the Prince’s. He can hear his laugh coming from within, along with two nearly-like chuckles. The high priests are with him. Michael opens the door to the second Caravan, the one covered in glittering mosaic stones, and holds out a hand.

Gavin takes Michael’s hand first, getting lifted into the small home-away-from-home and disappearing past the curtains that run just behind the door. Ray follows suit, and upon pushing past the curtains he can see why Gavin was in a hurry to get going.

The inside of the Caravan is roomy, and it is all for them. Gavin is already nestled in a pile of pillows to the left, and Michael moves past Ray to sit next to him with his back against the wall of the cart. They have lamps, and there are windows covered in curtains to see out into the day. Ray opens one of them, looking out at the last village of his region that he will set foot in for an undetermined amount of time.

The Caravan suddenly creaks, and Ray stumbles to the side. He has to regain his footing, but it is nowhere near as bumpy as the cart ride with his father’s ox.

Gavin is pouring wine into glasses, and Ray shakes his head at the one offered to him-- preferring to watch the road begin to move away at a slow pace.

“Next stop home.” Gavin says happily, leaning back against the pillows and Michael's legs.

Ray can’t help but smile. ‘Home’ has a good ring to it.


	5. A Life Like a Storybook

The caravan moves back and forth rhythmically as it comes closer and closer to its destination. It was only three days ago that Ray left his home and was chosen to take on the honor of a Dancer, only three days ago that he met the Prince and the High Priests, as well as the two Dancers snoring softly in close proximity to him. If he were to turn he’d be greeted by a sight that has become normal -- Gavin flopped haphazardly over the top of Michael, with pillows pushed out of the way and blanket strewn over only half of each of them, the wine from the night before precariously perched on a stool. 

With the lamps low they are little more than shadows, the same as the rest of the caravan. Ray’s concentration is on the window, which has become his preferred traveling seat. He has watched the fields disappear, followed by the orchards, and after that towns passed quickly and started to grow bigger. Rough dirt paths turned into pressed, flat roads which started out as ground and have now turned into stone. He can see lights in the distance, all of them perched on top of a grand wall of white stone. The seat of the Empire -- A place he never dreamed of seeing.

There are shouts outside the walls of the cart, their few guards kicking their horses into high-gear. Behind Ray, Michael wakes up and puts a hand on top of the still-snoring Gavin’s head as he lifts himself into a sitting position against the wall. He is careful not to wake the other boy, whose head is now in his lap. 

“Are we close, Ray?” He asks, yawning. He stretches his arms out over his head, trying to look out the same window Ray is without shifting too far. He can’t seem to make it, but Ray’s answer is enough.

“That wall is huge.” Ray says, looking away for only a moment to show Michael his wide eyes.

“Wait until you see the temple.” Michael says, grinning.

The rest of the Prince’s traveling caravan seems to be waking up as they get closer to the city. Ryan’s voice is loud enough through the window that it stirs Gavin with its indistinct message, which is answered by several other calls. There’s the sound of more horses as part of the Caravan moves around their cart as well as the Prince’s to move ahead and guide them into the gates. Their bunk suddenly shifts, sending Ray grabbing for the windowsill and Gavin rolling off across the floor. Michael is too busy laughing to fall.

As the horses pulling them recover from their fright there is a knock on their door and it is pulled open, revealing a smiling face that Ray is still trying to get used to.

“The Prince would like you all to be presentable, riding on top of the caravan as we pass through the city.” Caleb says, not coming all the way in the door. He swings on the very edge of the cart, but doesn’t seem concerned. He looks at Ray specifically next. “Plus, it’s got a great view.”

“Oh toss off, Caleb.” Gavin mutters, trying to bury his head into a pillow (since Michael has already stood up, brushing off his clothes.) Caleb only smiles brighter. 

“As you say!” He says, somehow managing to close the door and not fall off the thin steps that lead to where the horses are tied. Ray can see him a minute later through the window, riding on a horse like he’s not being forced to dodge three carts and seven horses as they barrel around him going the other way. He disappears behind them, leaving Ray to watch Michael kick Gavin in the gut.

Gavin continues whining but he sits up, allowing Michael to throw some semblance of clothes at him from a trunk in the corner. Ray is already changed, having been up for some time. He’s still not used to the bright green gossamer and cloth shoes, it makes him giddy whenever he slips something new on. 

“Up top.” Michael orders, pushing a nearly-dressed Gavin toward the door. He obliges, and Ray follows. Michael moves past them both to open the door and hold out a hand. Gavin takes it and allows Michael to swing him over to the ladder next to the doorway, it leads up to a small gated area on the top of the caravan. There is a similar one in front of them, on the Prince’s caravan, but so far only Ryan seems to have climbed up. 

Ray takes Michael’s offered hand and then swings, latching onto the ladder behind Gavin and then climbing up. The earlier shifting of their trailer is explained as Ray finds the sitting area already laid out for them. There are the usual pillows and also a small table with fruits and drinks, courtesy of Caleb. Ray still isn’t quite sure what his job is, he just seems to appear whenever Geoff of Jack calls and ferries things between carts. He’s one of the only new faces Ray has seen on the journey, despite the fact that there are at least fifty people in the groupings. Perhaps no one else is so easily situated around the Temple workers as Caleb.

Michael finally lifts himself up with the caravan door firmly shut behind him, taking a seat in between Gavin and Ray.

“We’ll pass through the gates and then head towards the square, the Prince will give a blessing there and then we’ll head off to the palace.” Michael explains to Ray as he pours himself something to drink. “But we’ll only pass by it, we always visit the temple first.”

Ray nods, but he’s watching as the last of the advance guard moves around them. They are now the second to last caravan, rather than the second to front. Only the High Priests’ caravan is behind them, but it is empty. Jack has joined Ryan on the Prince’s caravan and is leaning down to pull the Prince up behind him. Geoff takes the swing well, and only has to pull himself up one rung on the ladder to reach the top. Without prompting the Lads wave to him, watching the Prince wave back before he turns and sits with his back to them in between the Priests.

They have a little time after that to pour their drinks before the wall is suddenly looming over them and then they are past it. The guards below have their heads bowed, and several carts have pulled off to the side of the road to let them through. Above them hangs an ominous iron gate, which Gavin could just about reach with his fingertips if he were to stand. Beyond that, Ray sees that he has not prepared himself in the least for what he sees.

The buildings ahead of them tower over everything. While the dwellings they pass just inside the city walls are pleasant but small, the Temple and the Palace stand side-by-side and dwarf everything. They were the lights that Ray saw and imagined must just be higher on the wall, as torches light the windows and walkways between the two. From what can be seen past the smaller buildings the Palace is smooth grey stone capped with white, with three silver turrets and a walkway that connects, high above the city, to the Temple. Ray catched a flash of gold and bronze before both sights are hidden behind the taller buildings which lead them in toward the center.

Their horses move quickly now, the man leading them calling out ‘hup-ho’ so that they can keep up with Geoff’s cart. It rushes past buildings and paths so quickly that Ray guesses the honor guard was sent ahead to clear their way. It would not surprise him, as the prince showed much interest in speeding up their journey well into the second day. Now it seems, so close to home, he would like to keep the pace.

They only slow as the buildings begin to thin again, and Ray can see people pressed up against the walls around them. They take off their hats and wave and shout, with Gavin and Michael waving down to them, so Ray joins in. He feels grateful for Geoff’s decision to put them on top of the Caravan; Ray would never have seen anything otherwise.

The crowd is pressed up against each other so much when they arrive in the square that all Ray can see is an ocean of faces. They are all lifted towards Geoff’s face, where he stands on top of his caravan. Jack and Ryan stand behind him, but neither Michael nor Gavin moves -- so Ray stays seated.

“We come bearing news of our brothers in the South!” Jack shouts, harnessing the crowd. Their dull roar quiets, they all wait expectantly. Geoff moves to the edge of his perch.

“They have suffered, with difficult and deadly trials of patience and faith. I have seen them; and we must do all we can for them.” The Prince says, his voice not as loud as Jack’s. “The Gods will hear us, as we come together, and they will heal what has been broken. They will hear, because we can send them the true plight of their people!”

Geoff’s shout is echoed by the crowd, and Ray is so engrossed that he doesn’t notice Gavin nudging him.

“You knew that I would come back with another chosen member of my Temple. And you will know him truly in due time, but for now see him. See him and know that your brothers in the South knew him and so the Gods will hear.”

Michael and Gavin stand, pulling Ray up with them, and they push him a bit forward. The crowd turns and calls out greetings, blessings, prayers. They call out with their hearts, and it makes Ray wish he could hear them all. How could anyone ever hoped to be held in such high regard, despite having done nothing. Yet.

“For now-” The Prince says as the fervor lowers to a manageable rate. “A blessing. To all those of us who go about our lives in peace, may it continue. To those who suffer, may you be strong. To those whose faith wavers, may you find glory in the hearts of man.-”

The blessing is not long, but it still takes some time after Geoff has finished and is settled back down to get their carts moving again. The horses are of the mind that their long journey is done, and the crowd is of the mind that they would like to keep their Prince and his court for hours. At last, when the sea of people is finally parted, their shrunken company moves on.

The path they take now is winding slowly up, so that by the time they reach the precipice of their road they are laid out just in front of the Palace. Up close, and now with the sun rising behind them, the white caps gleam and the smooth grey stone is just as bright. There is a walled up courtyard just behind it that Michael whispers has a garden, but Ray is staring at the temple. 

Every bit of stone is covered in paint or metal or glass, murals to match the images on the Prince’s arms and many, many more. Sigils and mosaics the size of the cart curl up its sides so that it glitters in a way that resembles the patterns on an immense snake. At the very top, on the longest turret, an idol in the same form as the one given to Ray’s region sits pointing toward the East. At least, Ray thinks it is an idol until he recognizes that the silhouette is moving and sending out a loud call to the courtyard below.

“Ah shit.” Michael whispers, looking up at the Rooster that’s now flapping around with no intentions of getting down. Ahead of them Geoff is dying of laughter, and even Jack looks amused, but Ryan looks deadly. “Someone let Edgar loose.”

Ray wants to comment but Gavin shakes his head as the Caravans finally stop in front of the Temple. Edgar is still above them, Ray can hear him calling to the sun, but he can also hear Ryan discussing with two men a way to get him down ‘for his own safety’ as they all climb down from their perches. He’s dragged behind Gavin and Michael and enters the temple to an astonishing display, just as ornate as the outside; with the added features of gilt idols in metal and wood. 

The idols line the hallway they enter, where windows and torches mix to give ample light. It flickers so that the shadows move in sync with their steps until they reach a wide, round, Eastern facing room with clear windows of glass. The priests already there bow their heads to the Prince as he makes his way to the front with Jack, Ryan, Gavin, Michael, and Ray in tow.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The outside air is warm with the sun when the group emerges after their brief ceremony. Brief in that it is an hour shorter than the average temple ceremony -- but Ray never expected these things to be short. He expects that he’ll grow used to it, Michael seemed like he could have sat for another three hours; but Gavin was fidgeting within fifteen minutes. Perhaps it’s more about personality.

Ryan makes a beeline for the two men he was speaking with earlier about his Rooster, both of whom immediately begin speaking as he approaches. They’re easy to hear from the doorway.

“He’s back in his coop-” The one starts.

“Feathers all over the turret-” Says the other.

“And he’s calmed down, so-”

“And not to mention the shit on the-”

“Kerry, Monty- hold” Ryan says, holding up a hand to stop the white-haired man from going any further in his description of the Rooster’s defiling of the temple. “He’s been taken care of?”

“YES.” Both men say, seemingly glad to have that point across.

“Okay then.” Ryan says. He walks away briskly, as though nothing has changed, and leaves the rest of the group in his wake. Geoff and Jack have been approached by another priest, so that leaves the Lads and the two men who have taken up their posts near the entrance to the temple.

“So who let Edgar out?” Michael asks, as though he already knows the answer.

“Who do you think?” Monty says, leaning back against the wall next to the door. His glare at Kerry is an obvious blame that no one questions; least of all the accused.

“At least the poor guy got some air, that’s all I’m saying. Climbing a turret to get him back? Worth it.” Kerry says, smiling. He nods in greeting to Ray, who’s standing behind the other two dancers.

“If you had enough time to let one of the High Priest’s animals loose what, I wonder, is the state of poor Kara’s rooms?” Gavin asks, prompted by Kerry’s near-confession.

“I’m walking away to actually do my job.” Monty says before Kerry can open his mouth. “Meet me by the west wall when you’re finished, Kerry.”

Kerry watches Monty go, until he’s out of earshot, and then broadly says “Grasshoppers.”

Gavin can’t stop laughing for fifteen minutes.

After a deft discussion that involves the mating habits of Grasshoppers, the end of Gavin’s laughing fit (At Michael’s insistent ‘shut the fuck up Gavin’) and an introduction of Kerry to Ray and vice-versa the Lads see the Prince finishing his discussion. They gather back up, watching Kerry get back to work guarding the edge of the temple. He moves off toward where the west wall must be as the Dancers follow behind their Prince once more. He doesn’t look as happy as he did before the discussion, and even Jack has taken on a different look. They both seem troubled.

The Palace doors are open to the group as they approach, the Lads a bit quieter now that they’re in more serious company. The halls they walk through are vast and bright, with more clear glass windows than Ray has ever seen. The ceiling are vaulted where the halls intersect, and all the doors that are open reveal rooms that are richly furnished and full of people. Ray can’t help staring. He’s being stared at in return; he can see people looking up at the group through their eyelashes as they bow their heads. 

Ahead of them there’s a group of serious looking people dressed in embroidered, dark colored cloth. They look important, and deadly. They don’t notice the Prince approaching, so their conversation continues uninterrupted.

“-- and it’s assumed they will be coming over the Eastern ridge by a month’s pass. We can’t afford to-”

“We’ve sent scouts.” A formidable-looking woman interrupts. Her bright red hair hangs loose around her face even though the other woman present in the group of six has hers tied up tight in a bun pressed to the back of her skull. It makes her look like she couldn’t care less what the rest think. The sword at her waist would be enough for anyone else. “We have to wait until we have the appropriate information. If we rush into this we could end up--”

“What, getting hit? Hard? That’s what we’re risking by waiting.”

The group is still arguing, as Geoff breaks off from the pack to address them. The red-haired woman sees him first and immediately stops talking to bow her head, which leads the others to do the same. The room behind them must be where the argument started. When Ray looks inside he sees a large circular table with several chairs around it, one chair backed higher than the rest. 

Next to him, Gavin is muttering to Michael.

“-Never see the consulate out and about in such force like this. They’ve even brought in General Tuggey...”

Michael’s gaze lingers on the red-head for a moment, and then he turns so that he draws the other Dancers away from the conversation. Geoff is waving them off and waving Jack nearer. They’ve been dismissed.

“C’mon.” He says, leading the two toward the staircase they’ve been weaving their way toward slowly. “It’s best not to talk about it in the halls.”

The Consulate is moving back into their room, shutting the door behind them with Jack and Geoff in tow. Ray turns towards the stairs, wondering how quickly things change in the palace all the time.

\-------------

The Prince’s wing takes up a whole turret and, thankfully, is the one with it’s own path to the Temple. The hallways that surround the Dancers here are much more compact than those in the lower half of the Palace, but they have paintings and murals aplenty. At every juncture there seems to be another statue or idol, so many that it seems there could be three for every person in the wing itself.

“Checking out the decorations?” Michael asks, seeing Ray bend down to look at the delicate engraving on the teeth of a jakel.  
Ray jerks back up and smiles, seeing that he’s not being told he’s doing something wrong.

“They’re all really detailed.” He says in response, picking up his pace with Michael to catch up to Gavin, whose three doors ahead of them. “They’re the Prince’s wife’s, right?”

“Well, she’d prefer to be called Griffon, but yeah.” Michael answers. They’re approaching the private rooms, and they haven’t seen anyone since they left the staircase behind, so it’s a surprise for Ray when he sees two men standing guard at the next junction. Well, they should be standing guard; instead they’re slumped up against a wall breathing heavily and looking much too proud of themselves.

“You lot look like you took a run through the whole tower.” Gavin says, kicking his cloth shoe against a leather boot that one of the guards wears. “What were you doing?”

“Running.” The shorter one answers, still smiling. “With good reason.”

“Kara found the Grasshoppers, Chris?” Michael asks. It’s the bigger man who answers.

“Ohhh yeah.” Miles says, grinning. “That and Chris, who decided bugs weren’t enough.”

“I hid under her writing desk again.” Chris says.

“Of course you did.” Michael says, sounding less than thrilled. “Ray, these are two more of our Temple’s finest protectors. Chris Demarais and Miles... Luna. Future captain of the guard.”

Miles doesn’t seem shaken by the last name, though Chris and Gavin both move awkwardly at it. It takes Ray a moment to register that it’s the Bastards name Gavin and Michael had mention on the second day of their journey, while they were talking about life in the palace. It had been an odd concept to Ray, at first. There weren’t really ‘bastards’ in the villages seeing as how names meant very little compared to work. He reaches out to shake hands with Miles without prejudice, which everyone seems relatively calm about.

“At least I know life’s not boring around here.” He says happily, alluding to the pranks the boys seem to have been pulling while half the Prince’s wing was away. That other half is still missing, at the temple doing their work or unpacking their things. The quiet in the tower won’t always be there. 

“Never boring.” Miles answers. Next to him, Chris nods. “But it would be appreciated if, when you see the Schedule keeper, you don’t tell her that you saw us.”

Gavin gives a lazy salute in agreement and then presses on, urging Michael and Ray to follow. He’s been wanting to get to his room since they got there, and doesn’t want to be slowed down. 

There’s another staircase to be climbed, leaving Ray breathless by the end, and he’s glad that the Dancer’s rooms are on the second of three levels in the turret. The prince is on top, with the High Priests and Priestess. Below them the various other temple dignitaries. A handful of idol craftsmen, Jordan, Kara, and the regular priests and priestesses without their own personal homes. 

When they reach the very top of their staircase Ray is happy to see windows, and interested in seeing past closed doors. Gavin is already in his room, rolling around on his own bed and making a general mess of it, muttering about caravans and uncomfortable floors and not having enough pillows. There are several lutes on shelves, a chest of drawers taller than Ray, and floors of polished wood -- not to mention the paintings on the walls. They’re beautiful, colorful swirls and images of water and ships and fish. It’s not Gavin’s doing, as Michael admits while he pulls Ray round to the next room.

“Griffon’s fond of him, and he wouldn’t stop moaning about missing home when he first got here. Now it’s here he moans about.” He says, smiling as he opens a door and reveals his own room. It’s plainer, the bed is the same as Gavin’s with just as many pillows and the chest of drawers is just as tall, but there’s a collection of books in one corner and there’s a heavy-looking chest at the foot of the bed. Michael opens it to reveal several precious stones, all settled on their own silk blanket. 

“Reminders of home here, too.” He says before closing the chest and nodding his head back to the hallway. Ray follows him, not considering where they’re going next.

“And this is yours, now.”

When Ray looks into the room it’s at first too bright, but then he notices that the window is facing the west and the curtains are drawn open, reflecting the light of water into the room. He drifts over to the window first, feet echoing on his bare wood floor, and looks out to see there is a pond below, in part of the walled off garden Michael had spoken about earlier. Next to it is a rock outcropping that has a constant stream of water flowing down from it into the pond. There are men next to it, tilling the ground for a new plant. Ray can just barely make out the rose buds, but when he sees them he smiles. He can hear a Rooster below him, which must mean that Edgar’s coop is somewhere on the edge of the Garden.

When he turns to talk to Michael the room is empty, so left to his own devices Ray explores. His chest of drawers has only a few items, but he’s sure Jordan will be fixing that shortly. There’s no shortage of jewelry in the chest under the mirror, and the bed is -- he must admit -- comfortable enough to warrant rolling around on it foolishly like Gavin had. When he finishes rolling around on it he notes the vase on the table next to it, a bright red rose soaking up water. It’s half-bloomed.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Gavin’s bells going crazy. He sits up too quickly and stumbles, about to slide across the wooden floor in his cloth shoes. Ray catches himself on the edge of his bed and hears female laughter echoing from the circular ante-room on the Dancer’s floor into his room through the open door. 

When he finally gets there he can see Gavin clinging to a woman in the center of the room, with Michael leaning against the wall waiting his turn. He makes a gesture at Ray that he can’t understand, miming something around his head, but he understands as soon as Gavin lets go and bounces back, leaving the woman free to look up at him through her bangs and speak.

“And who has my husband brought home now?”

The High Priestess stands as though an audience is watching, arms at her side but not held tightly, allowing the colorful sigils there to shine through. They’re not exact copies of the Prince’s, they’re all different. She has her own stories to tell. On her head is a golden circlet, not unlike the Prince’s.

“His name’s Ray.” Gavin says excitedly, as though Griffon’s presence has given him more than enough energy to keep going the rest of the day, though minutes before he was whining for a nap. 

Ray bows his head in response, but he only hears a chuckle. Then Griffon is next to him, smiling, lifting up his head. 

“Yes, you’ll do.” She says, pinching his cheek. “I think you’ll be perfect in no-time.”

Ray can’t help but blush. He can hear Michael snickering.

“Are you always going to get here before I can properly introduce you to them?” The Prince’s voice calls, his head appearing in the stairwell with Jack and Ryan not far behind him. “Really, it’s like you want to see them first, not me.”

If Griffon looked dazzling before, now she is a star. She reaches her husband well before Jack and Ryan can hope to cross the starwell, leaving them trapped as she hugs him tight. Even the Prince, so often tired looking and run-down, seems more chipper in her presence. He pulls her to the side as she falls down from his chest where she’d jumped and curled her legs around his back in a full-body attachment and lets his High Priests onto the floor. When she sees them she hugs Jack near as tightly as she hugged Geoff, and lets Ryan give her a quick squeeze.

Geoff looks past the reunion, seeming happy, and smiles at his Dancers. “Everything good up here?”

Ray is nodding so hard that he nearly dizzies himself as Gavin and Michael give a quick affirmative. Geoff’s eyes linger for a moment on his newest charge before he takes Griffon’s hand and moves back toward the staircase.

“Good, then I’m going to go drink some wine and try and get the smell of the road off my skin and-”

“We really should talk.” Both Ryan and Griffon say at the same time, leaving the whole room at a momentary loss. Griffon looks at Ryan who gives her a nod, as if to allow her to speak first.

“You met with the consulate, but I don’t know if they told you...” Griffon starts, sounding worried. Geoff cuts her off, like he knows already.

“They told me everything. They’ve got it handled. They sent out their scouts and they’ll deal with it. We’ve taken down their names to make sure they have a safe journey, it’s no different then-” He cuts himself off, looking at his wife’s face. From the side, Ray can only read half her expression.

“What else did they do?” Geoff asks, sounding much more serious.

“They’ve called the King.” Griffon says.

“And the rest of the Generals.” Ryan adds, seeing that Griffon has finished speaking. “They want to have them come and plan a counter-assault before it’s too late. This is no small matter, any more. They think it’s something to be truly worried about.”

Ray tries not to look as confused as he feels, not knowing whatever background knowledge the others have. Gavin and Michael have gone stone-faced next to each other, Jack looks as pensive as he did before, and Griffon is holding on to Geoff’s hand like she’s afraid he might do something rash.

Geoff looks toward one of the windows; with the light of the setting sun growing less and less bright outside, darkness will soon take over the tower, and they’ll be left with only torchlight.

“Then they think it will be war.” Geoff says finally, as though he’s seen something no one else has. 

War, Ray thinks, watching the people around him start to discuss the time of year, the troops they have, the sturdiness of the barracks and the men in them. 

I’ve only ever heard tell of war in stories.

How will ours end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That’s it for Chapter four! It’s about to get pretty real pretty fast. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you're interested in seeing character information, chapter quotes (Before the chapter comes out) or other various story things, don't hesitate to look them up on my Tumblr. Iwatchedyoufall.tumblr.com )


	6. My Garden is Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter is dedicated to everyone who stuck around and kept badgering me, asking if I was ever going to post another chapter. Anon or not, every time one of you asked I buckled down and wrote a few more paragraphs. You gave me back my muse. Thank you.)

Geoff was not alive the last time that war threatened the safety of his kingdom.

Perhaps the closest thing he knows to war are the tales of skirmishes long past that his father the King whispered to his Children at night, in the darkness of their rooms. A testament to the old days, when the Empire fought for its bounty and might. And even before that there were the battles of the first Emperors, before they were King and Prince; before the Gods explained the true path to glory was not in ruling, but in preserving. In those long battles even the crowned prince was forced to take up a sword and make his mark alongside his brethren.

If he were asked to pick up a sword, Geoff likes to think he’d know how to use it. But he has never had reason to. He’d likely cut his own hand off.

He rolls over in his bed to grip Griffon around the waist, pulling her in tighter to his chest. This theory of war keeps him from sleeping, even more so than remembering how to be home again. Being away so long, leaving his heart behind as he traverses the Empire to bring home another piece in the game of the Gods, that is not what he wants. It is what he has to do, but he would much rather never leave Griffon’s side. If the Gods had given him only one thing to be thankful for in his life, rather than the many blessings he knows have been heaped upon him, he would undoubtedly pick Griffon’s love over any riches or titles. The fact that she not only loves him, but can just as easily deal with the life of a Prince and love in equal shares all his charges; from the oldest of his kin to the youngest of his Dancers, is mesmerizing. Not even his Uncle’s wife, the kindest woman he’d known in his childhood, the last high priestess, had ever put so much effort into the affairs of her husband the Prince.

He has found in his time that many things that were true for the past Prince’s are not true for him. 

He thinks on his charges for a brief moment. His wife, beside him; his kin, Jack and his second High Priest Ryan; his Dancers - more sons to a Prince than any blood family could be; the temple keepers, Caleb, Jordan, and Kara; and the guards that are close enough to the faith to trust in the heart of his home - Chris and Kerry and Monty and above all Miles, who will someday lead the Temple Guard or the Palace Guard or perhaps go on to even greater things, if he has the mind to do it. They are all endangered by this war, and so is his greatest charge: The Faith of the People. 

The thought of what war brings: screaming and crying and unanswered prayers- it leaves his breath hitching in his throat. As if she can sense it Griffon closes her hand around his in her sleep. It brings the air back to him, but it gives no answer to his questions of how he will ever deal with war or it’s consequences. Those answers will have to come when Burnie arrives and holds the council. Geoff will be expected there. He has no idea what good a man of faith is in the strategies of man against man. Perhaps the Council thinks that keeping the Gods close will grant them quick and quiet victories.

If they want a holy man he doesn’t see why they can’t just be happy with having Jack on their council: Why must they keep Geoff away from his duties any more than he’s already been gone? He has priests to talk to and sins to address, and they’ve both piled up while he was away on his search for Ray. Why the Gods could not bring his newest Dancer to the Palace themselves, if they wanted him so badly, he cannot pretend to know. To ask would be fallacy- he’ll let them run him around the world if it keeps them happy enough to keep his people safe.

There is an almost imperceptible change in the air, and Geoff knows a few moments before the sky changes from black to darkened purple that he will not sleep before the sun rises. The sky will continue to lighten until it wakes the damnable rooster Ryan has penned in the gardens below the Prince’s tower and when it calls to the sun the rest of his people will stir. 

Caleb first- He’ll be running around the stone halls before another soul is out of bed; giving the servants their duties and then mounting his horse to travel through the streets with the younger priests to take prayers to those who cannot reach the temple. No doubt Ryan would be out of bed after that, and then Jack- the both of them as keen on mornings as Edgar. Michael and Ray might stir before Jordan and Kara, but Gavin would remain asleep as long as no one interrupts him. Griffon, well; Griffon will sleep until Geoff finally allows himself to sigh about his lack of sleep, and then she will comment on how Geoff’s tired eyes are more tired than usual.

Geoff would have prefered sleep to a night of asking himself questions he doesn’t have the answer to, but his preferences are very rarely heeded as it is.

As if the Gods had not taught the animal mercy- Edgar crows before the sky has gone from Sapphire to Azure. The Prince would consider war with the creature if he didn’t already have enough battles to fight; and if it hadn’t announced the coming of his brother. He can hear the thunder of large horses hooves against cobbles and the calls of mounted men, though both are muted by the distance from the tower to the gates.

He sighs, and then feels Griffon stirring.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Because Geoff hates waking up early (Especially when he has yet to fall asleep) he sends Ryan and Jack in his stead to attend Burnie downstairs until he has a few minutes to himself. He knows the king will delight in seeing Jack as much as he delights in seeing Geoff; as their childhood together as a trio seems to be never far from his mind. Griffon he regretfully kisses before she takes a slow pace down the tower’s stairs to gather the lads and bring them to the temple. Ray has a lot to learn, and the temple would fall if Griffon was not there to hold it together with the skin of her teeth-- at least that is what Geoff believes. Caleb will be gone the whole morning and then he will be gone in the afternoon, spending his time running around the temple. He assumes Jordan and Kara will go off about their business as usual, and knowing the two of them their arguing will keep the lower floors of the Prince’s tower free of anyone snooping about.

That will be useful, seeing as how today his tower will host an assortment of people whose lives revolve around death, war, and generally things unbecoming of the holy.

Geoff counts fifteen minutes and seven of Edgar’s calls before he hears the noise of footsteps coming up the stairs outside of his rooms. He wastes no time in moving out of his bedroom to meet the group, counting them off silently in his head. There’s Burnie in the lead, with Jack trailing behind him-- meaning they’d already sent Ryan to the temple to assist Griffon. Following his kin are generals Tuggey and Dunkleman, the scholar Hullum- with all of his war texts stacked under one arm, Gus with his pens and paper and ink, and Kathleen Zuelch-- who he last saw as only a lieutenant. Now she wears a General’s cloth around her waist, and Geoff is proud to say it suits her. There’s a random assortment of less important people behind Kat, but the Prince has very little time for them as Burnie holds out his arms for an embrace.

“When we last met, and I said I hoped the Gods would bring you home-” Geoff starts, pulling away from his brother’s crushing hug. “I did not mean it in this way.”

He gestures toward the table that has been set up in the middle of the room so that the rest of the council can sit themselves and arrange their places while he walks with Burnie and Jack to the head of the rectangular space. Usually the council meetings were held downstairs in the council room- built in a circle to symbolize the importance of a consensus- but there had been some argument as to how easily the council meetings were heard from under the doors and in the open gallery. In response the council had asked for the Prince’s less-traveled halls to house the meeting.

“This is the farthest from what anyone wanted, Geoff.” Burnie says, sitting down in a plain wooden chair. “But as it is now necessary, it is important that we take care of things as quickly as possible. Miles-”

The guard, who had trailed into the room after the last of the ‘unimportant’ council attendees, looks up in a mild panic at the King. 

“Close the doors downstairs and make sure Oum, Shawcross, and Demarais are posted where they’re meant to be, then come back to guard the small council door.” Burnie finishes, watching the young man bow and exit the room. Miles closes the door behind him.

Ignoring a look from Geoff and Jack, something only the three at the head of the table seem to know the reasoning behind, Burnie addresses the council.

“The small council is now set to convene this morning on the subject of war with our enemies in the West. All those present are pledged to silence, unless they speak with someone who is in this room.” He says, laying his hands flat on the table. The rest of the room copies the motion, and then things begin in earnest.

“Our kingdom lies in jeopardy from the infidels to our west. They have, in the past, refused our trade, our protection, and our friendship. Now they seek to make war.” Burnie says, his voice rising and falling like the tide. “The people of the Bull are not to be taken lightly. Their warriors are fierce.”

“As fierce as ours?” General Tuggey asks, leaning forward over the table. “Not by half.”

“And that’s not to account for our discipline, either.” General Zuelch chimes.

“I have faith in our people.” Burnie says, addressing their concerns. “If it comes to war I know we can defeat them, but there would still be casualties. If there is any possibility that we can circumvent such an act--”

“Better to cut the Bull at it’s horns.” Hollum says, shuffling through notes he’s made about the enemy.

“You mean their king?” Gus asks.

“Their leader.” Matt answers, pulling out a piece of paper which is covered in especially tiny writing. “The ‘True ones’ as they call themselves have no king. They choose a leader from amongst them in a ceremonial battle for their God. The winner is their new head, the horns of the bull.”

“The losers?” Geoff asks, the first time he has spoken since greeting the small council.

“The only way to end the battle is to be the last man alive.” Matt says, setting down the paper about the Bull’s Horns to pick up another. He ignores Geoff’s despairing face, and the looks of astonishment on the Generals’.

Burnie waves his hand at all of them, bringing them back to the point of the meeting. “Their customs mean little for us if we cannot exploit them. The Bull’s Horns, as you called him, is one face in a herd of faces. One cow in a pen of cattle-- though the one most likely to gore the butcher.”

“You think we cannot reach him?” General Dunkleman asks.

“I think we know too little, Barb. His name, in passing. No face, no family, no distinctions.” Burnie says, sounding glum.

“We know their movements.” Gus says, pushing through his own piles of papers. “Our scouts have been everywhere, searching and learning. We have information.”

“Who could you send for this? They’d have to be half mad to go.” Burnie asks.

“Brandon.” Gus answers, as the man steps forward from the back of the room with a few other people behind him. “And JJ, and their force.”

The king turns toward Brandon, who bows his head but lifts it just as quickly. “Tell us what you’ve found.”

“Your grace,” Brandon begins, his shoulders going stiff. “Our force crossed through the Western mountains and found them well defended up until the Podricks Pass.”

Geoff feels his stomach tighten into knots at the mention of Michael’s town, the news that follows is no more sweet.

“The pass had been fouled by the Bull’s presence. They destroyed everything in their path. Houses, mine shafts, even the temples.” Brandon says, eyes flickering to meet Geoff’s. He looks as sick as Geoff feels. “My Prince, I regret to say that Stone temple has fallen. They must have spent days there pulling it apart stone by stone and scraping every gem and mineral from it’s walls.”

The news makes Geoff bow his head in grief. He knew the Stone temple well, it was a beauty in itself and it’s worshipers had never faltered-- even when their mines ran dry and they felt themselves doomed they pressed on with the strength of their idol the Bear and the great Dawn-Caller.

“The people?” Jack asks, reminding Geoff that he sat just across the table and would know his grief just as well. “The Priests and Priestesses? The Villagers?”

Brandon looks away, seeming pained. “Some captured, perhaps, but most we found dead. They were left as a mockery at the foot of their Bear’s crumpled statue-- or tossed into their own mines.”

I will have to tell Michael these things. Geoff realizes, his own fear overwhelming him for a moment. I will have to look my lad in the eyes and tell him that his people are dead or dying and that his God has been defiled by his own worshipers bodies. I will have to tell him these horrible things, and then send him off to prayer and know that he can do nothing for them now except stay with us and dance-- for when I took him his dreams of becoming one of the Bear’s Guards died in his Stone Temple.

It takes the Prince a moment to come back into the council meeting, bringing his eyes in focus first. He can see more talking going one, perhaps the Generals overwhelmed by the horror of what Brandon has told them; but when he opens his ears again he hears the horrors still coming.

“Their force is camped at the foot of the mountains, just before the plains. “ Brandon finishes, looking to the Generals-- they must have been asking after the Herd, not the dead.

“It’s as though they want to draw us out.” General Dunkleman says, her fists are curled tight on the table-top. “They want us spread before them.”

“If they want it they shall have it.” General Tuggey says. Her voice has a hint of shake, though she has hidden it so well under the righteous fury Geoff wonders if anyone else can hear it. She knew Podrick’s Pass well, through the eyes of the very man Geoff had been dreading to tell of things. She had often called for the favor of Michael’s Dance in her own prayers before setting off with any of her charges-- He wonders if she grieves for him. 

“Lindsay that’s folly.” Burnie says, turning his eyes to her. “If they want to draw us out there must be a reason.”

“They thirst for our blood.” Lindsay says, looking bolder every moment. “Is that not reason enough?”

“I will not let our people fall to the likes of murderers and idol-smashers.” The King says, his voice growing deeper. “But we must be thoughtful in our actions. If we give them what they want we must know that we can turn it to our advantage.”

“Before we move armies anywhere we must think to the palace.” General Zuelch says, putting her voice back into the fray. “From Podricks Pass there are any number of forested lands around the plains they could use to make it around the back to our Capitol.”

“There are also too many towns and villages to leave unattended.” Geoff adds, suddenly wary of the whole business. “If our people are in danger we need to move them. Anyone near the base of the mountains or living on the plains must move to a safer place.”

He can think only of Caleb, even now riding around and spreading good news to those who could not reach for it themselves. The image of the small boy he’d picked up at the edge of the plains and turned into his Ward years ago is in front of his eyes, clouding his vision. He can imagine the same little boy being ridden down by a bull on horseback, eyes red with the blood of Gods.

“Evacuation is a good idea.” Burnie relents, looking glad that Geoff suggested it. “How many can we have here in the capitol? Joel?”

The master of coin looks up from his calculations of the cost of war and sighs before scratching new numbers on the corner of a bit of paper already crowded with coinage. “Enough.” He answers. “We can fit enough.”

Burnie nods as if the answer is acceptable and looks back to the generals, who are still arguing where best to place their armies.

“The South lands could shield us until we come up around them and take the pass.” Barbara says.

“And the North would be harsh, but it would get us through to them from the side.” Lindsay adds.

Katherine works her jaw. “We should keep at least half a force at the Capitol. If any of the Bull’s men were to get through us and head straight here--”

“Then we have the Palace Guard to keep us safe, and the Temple guard as well.” Burnie says, glancing at the closed door that Miles guards. “It seems we must meet them in battle, with no other option. A host from the front, a host from the side-- and a host not from the North, but the South.” The generals give him confused glances, but he smiles. “The western men have no skin for the cold. Let our ice freeze them in place if they run, so that we can hack them down where they stand.”

The conversation continues in that manner for minutes more, until Geoff finds that he cannot stomach it. He has bad news enough to give to the lads when they return, he does not want to have to be liable for recounting the entire meeting to Griffon or Ryan when they return to the temple that night. He will leave it to Jack, who has as big a heart but just as strong a stomach. He rises and half the table rises with him, but he shakes his head.

“I need only some air. I beg the council stay, and plan our realms protection.” He says, and as the others seat themselves again he nods toward Burnie, though his head is just at an angle that Jack receives the nod as well. “Brother, I will speak to you later.”

He leaves the room, with Miles closing the door again behind him. The guard stands stiff and tall, a man now, but Geoff can still remember him as a little boy. He knows that Miles Luna is destined for great and wonderful things-- there is no doubt of that. He has seen it, and spoken it. But just as he told his Brothers; with no little royal children to run around with and grow close to, and no noble mother to hide his shameful name-- how can a King’s bastard hope to rise as far as possible? 

How can Miles Luna ever rise so far as Jack Pattillo?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Geoff’s search for fresh air takes him to the Gardens, where the Sun has hidden itself behind the Garden walls and turned the sky a fiery orange. The gardeners are moving around like ants, pruning and cutting and tending; but a select few have a more important task. They stand on the edge of the fish pond, right next to the rocky outcropping which serves to make a waterfall, and make move to plant the small rose trestle that traveled with the Prince from Ray’s home into the earth there.

Gods be good, the flowers will take route and climb up the side of the rock, using it as an anchor, and will dip their roots into the water of the pond. Their leaves will fall and turn silt at the bottom of the water, and their vines will hold the rock in place so that it does not crumble from the water’s advance. It is a good fit. Geoff thinks that the three things together will finally balance and no longer need so much tending.

He watches the gardeners curse the tenacity of the rose bushes thorns as he fumbles it into the ground. It is a heavy thing despite it’s size, ungraceful and clingy. Even so it takes to the dirt and within moments the roots are covered and the gardeners brush their hands as if to turn to other work.

One of them trips over a trowel and stumbles, landing with his back on half another bush of flowers. He groans, but Geoff knows he need not help because the man’s friends are already around him and pulling him up and away. They laugh at his clumsiness, and the man laughs with them.

And that is when Geoff sees what has befallen the bush.

The pale white buds were hard to see, because it was yet so light in the garden, but now the Prince can see the Moon Lillys crushed and dripping with their green-white sap. Half the bush has been cut away by the force of the fall, the stronger half, in truth. The flowers have always been weak and plagued with bugs and rot-- but it was a beautiful plant and so full of life. He wonders if it will survive the maiming.

But he can hear his lads and wife calling, and he looks up above him. On the bridge over the garden, which attaches the palace to the temple, he can see them all waving. He lifts his arm back and sees Michael playfully shove Gavin toward the edge, with Ray laughing behind the two of them. It’s the newest Dancer who nimbly grabs Gavin’s tunic as he flails his arms- and once he’s stable he begins shouting at Michael who pays it no mind and keeps laughing. Even safe, Ray finds no reason to let go of Gavin’s tunic, and his free hand finds the back of Michaels.

Gods be Good. Geoff prays silently, watching them head toward the Palace doors high above to get to their rooms-- likely racing the Prince though he was never asked to play the game. Let Ray hold onto their shirts and hold them together. Michael will need brothers now, just as we all need our sons.

And he leaves the garden, with thoughts of crushed Moon Lillys and crumpled bears in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Again, Thank you for sticking with me guys. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you. You can find my Tumblr Here: Iwatchedyoufall.tumblr.com )


	7. Even Mountains Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter is a drabble connected to the story having to deal with Michael's reaction to the news of Podrick's Pass.]

_It’s like a bad dream_.

Michael would like to think that if he closes his eyes and opens them again that everything will go back to the way it was; but that’s folly-- the kind of folly he can’t stand. Children are the only ones who are allowed to believe that closing your eyes changes the way the world works. He is a grown man, and a Dancer. He is a vessel of the Prince. He is no fool.

Even so, closing your eyes is supposed to bring peace and sleep, but all it brings Michael is images of his home in ruins.

All he can imagine is fire and red, though he knows stone doesn’t burn and his town had few enough rubies. He thinks it might be easier if he knew the exact state of the place, but if Geoff knew any details he hadn’t shared them, and Michael hadn’t had the strength to ask. He still feels drained by the whole thing. He’d never known a conversation could take so much out of a person.

When they had arrived back at the Tower they’d all been exhausted already. Michael and Gavin had spent a full day teaching Ray dances and showing him more of the Temple than he’d seen previously. Griffon and Ryan had been busy with the priests, with their normal duties. They had expected Jack and Geoff to come back from the war council a floor above and share dinner with them. They hadn’t expected the Prince to arrive from the Gardens after they’d waved at him from above and deliver news that had left Michael speechless.

Griffon had cried, and Michael hadn’t. Gavin and Ray had looked stricken; and Michael had kept his demeanor calm. Maybe he should have stayed to comfort them; but he’d taken off back to the temple as soon as the Prince had let him go. Eating dinner and then Laying in bed could be no use; but maybe his own place in the Temple could help.

He can dance- he has legs, he has the training.

All he needs now is for the Gods to see.

Michael had arrived and begun with his usual exercises but had almost immediately slowed and then stopped. Everything about his form is off, he is crooked and stumbling and feels like a fool. Even standing under the wooden carving of a bear feels wrong. He cannot help but think about how it is not his bear-- it is not the Stone Bear of Podrick’s Pass. It is not the Temple Keeper in all his glory.

Every time Michael tries to see the Stone Bear by closing his eyes he sees strange men begin to pound at it with pickaxes and hammers. They rip at the stone with their own fingers as it begins to break apart and collect the gold and bronze bands from it’s wrists and stuff their pockets full of the diamonds that fall from it’s mouth like blood in the red evening sun. It sounds like home, with all the heavy breathing and iron against rock, but the image is one of horrible disrespect and destruction.

It has the taste of a God’s gift-- a true vision like the ones that The Prince sees often and the dancers see less. There is a curling in the pit of his stomach that tells him it is exactly what happened when the Pass was taken and that he will never be able to forget the enemy's hungry eyes as they plundered his home temple.

And even as he wishes he wasn’t thinking about the Stone Bear he knows that it is a better alternative to thinking about the people who once built their daily lives around it. He cannot stand to think about the miners he walked along-side or about the Temple Guards he had hoped to begin apprenticing for. He cannot think about the other young boys and girls who collected little broken gems and gold fibers from the stream with him when they were small, and above all he cannot think of the family he left behind because that may yet lead to another cruel image in his head.

He does not want to know if his parents are trapped at the bottom of a mineshaft or being herded like cattle to be sold as slaves behind the lines of an approaching Army. He just wants quiet, and peace.

He just wants to pray.

But the images deny him even that. He tries to set his form and keep time but the unsympathetic rhythm of pickaxes throws him off and he stumbles. He tries to land a spin but feels the dizzy weightlessness of falling down a shaft. There is no respite, and so when someone finally comes for him Michael has all but given up and has sat down on the edge of the Dancer’s Platform with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He shakes his shoulders as if to remove hands from them, but stills when he hears bells.

He lifts his head and sees Gavin, and the pickaxes quiet down for a moment.

Once he knows he has been spotted Gavin seems to slow down. He’s taking the outer edge of the circular temple room over toward the center, moving in a arch. There’s no flamboyant bouncing and silliness, no jokes. It takes Michael a moment to realize that he’s being approached as though he is a wounded animal. It seems fitting enough-- he is wounded, and grief turns any man into a beast.

He stays still and just watches the other man approach, waiting.

When Gavin gets close enough he pauses again, standing in front of Michael. He rocks on his heels there a moment and then in a flurry of ringing bells he’s next to Michael on the platform in a position that’s far too natural to them now. Gavin sits and slumps into Michael’s side as though he’s the comfiest pillow in the world, head lolling against the side of his chest. Michael straightens up almost unconsciously at the movement, knowing that leaning forward to his knees will leave Gavin uncomfortable, and then it’s only a moment until his right arm is around Gavin’s waist in response.

Gavin sighs, as though he’s gotten what he wanted, but to Michael it feels like it comes from his own chest. He breathes out and feels the pickaxes leave him.

He sits there a moment, relishing the ability to hear his own thoughts-- but then he can hear Gavin’s breathing evening out.

“Hey asshole, are you falling asleep on me?” Michael asks, shaking his arm a little to jostle Gavin.

The other boy murmurs something under his breath and curls back toward Michael, arms circling his waist as if to stop the shaking.

Michael smiles and shakes his arm again, watching as Gavin opens his eyes halfway to stare up at him.

“It’s too late for this, Michael.” Gavin says wearily.

“It’s only late once everyone’s asleep.” Michael answers, shaking his arm again. When Gavin groans, he decides to ask. “Why’d you even show up, not enough pillows on your bed?”

“I would have been here sooner, but The Prince figured you’d want some time to yourself.”

He wraps his arm around Gavin a little tighter. Geoff may well-enough know what is right when it comes to the Gods and the people who worship them, but Gavin knows so much more about Michael than anyone else. Michael’s comfort is in comforting others, and being in the Temple alone might have been the end of him. He can see that now.

But Gavin is falling asleep again.

“I came here to pray, not doze, Gavin.” Michael says. He shifts, which leads to Gavin sitting up on his own and shaking out his shoulders.

Michael pushes himself back up onto his feet and tries to shake the dense feeling of his legs away. sitting with his legs pressed against the edge of the platform wasn’t the brightest of ideas. He can feel Gavin watching him, but that’s so normal the it pushes him farther into his routine. He’s stretching by the time Gavin says “You didn’t even wake up a Priest to sing your prayers.”

Michael pauses. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s uncomfortable with the idea of asking someone to do this with him. He knows that the Gods will be able to see his prayer, even if there’s no one singing it so they can hear it. This Grief is his, the people are his, and the few people who could understand how he feels he doesn’t want to bother with his problems. Griffon and Ryan have been in the Temple all day, just like Gavin, Ray, and Michael; Geoff and Jack had to witness the war council-- they deserve to rest.

While he stretches Gavin jumps off the edge of the platform and walks off. Michael thinks he’s gone off to go to bed until he reappears in the corner of Michael’s vision with a lute from the musician's stand. It’s not one of his own, so he’s busily plucking at it with his fingers to try and find out what sort of sound it has. The whole situation is confusing to Michael’s cluttered mind.

“What are you doing?” He asks, pausing with an arm to the ground behind his back.

“No one dances without music, Michael.” Gavin replies, smiling as he finally plucks a familiar note or two.

Michael doesn’t argue, pulling his arms up into the air behind his head. He nods and Gavin starts plucking away at the edge of the platform, eyes looking toward the ceiling.

And Michael prays.


	8. One Last Prayer

_\--Five Months Later--_

 

The temple is quiet, and it is the opposite of what Ray has come to expect.

 

For months the army has been in and out of the temple’s doors, praying and protecting and making a mess of the floors with their hard-soled boots. Likewise has the peasantry, which Ray finds odd to behold now that he does not count as one of them. In his finery- all of the gold and white cloth and gossamer and roses- they don’t even look twice at him except to bow and ask him to dance in their names.

 

At least he can do that much, now. At least he can dance. Even now he carries his weight on the balls of his feet, a bit of a bounce despite his slow gait. Michael and Gavin have taught him as well as they can, but Ray is still unsure of his abilities. The crowds of people calling his name along with Michael and Gavin’s frighten him sometimes.

 

But the temple is quiet now. No crowds calling out names. No crying children or loud booming prayers. No singing except the quiet chant of a few priests a floor down. The Armies have been called to amass at the gates; the people have been told to evacuate to the countryside beyond the palace, to the West. It is safer there, now that the Enemy approaches from the Northeast.

 

The king’s plans with the Generals had gone awry the first time. Rather than suffer in the cold of the Northlands the Bulls had found themselves in a perfect form to charge through the ranks General Zuelch had thrown at them, and they had burst through successfully. It had been a bloodbath, they said. It had cost too many good men their lives, although for every man of theirs one of the enemy had fallen as well. They needed a new strategy.

 

So the Dawn Callers, his Empire, pulled back to regroup and bury their dead. Meanwhile the enemy took the initiative to push forward and throw themselves at everything they came near. The Empire fought back as well as they could, but the Bulls seemed ready to fight till the last man. They didn’t care how many of their number died, so it soon became a battle to keep ground.

 

Several skirmishes of great consequence had taken place since the beginning. The battle of Grayton’s Bluff, the slaughter in Milltown, and the siege of the Island Coast- which had put Gavin into a panic until word came that the majority of the villages were safe. Tuggey’s force had taken the most successful battle yet, appearing out of nowhere in the night when the Bulls were licking their wounds from the beating Dunkleman had given them at Milltown. Her army had taken out a good eighth of the herd, and lost very few men. Likewise Tuggey took out another quarter, and they could see the enemy becoming desperate.

 

They marched now in a single mass coming toward the Capitol, and so the Empire’s armies had amassed as well. It would be one final battle to finish everything. There would be a winner, soon; and nothing but ashes would remain of those who lost.

 

Ray thought, at least he hoped, that he would be a part of the winning side.

 

So far the Gods had seen fit to grant them victory over the enemy, more so than failure. The people had been saying for months that it was because of the Dancers and the Priests and the Prince as much as it was because of the King and his War Council. As always it was a joint operation, and now the Faith’s side was about to make their last stand, so that the People could make theirs.

 

One final ceremony to give the Generals and the King strength enough to defeat anyone who threatened the Empire.

 

“Ray!”

 

Gavin’s voice is faint, and the slight ringing that follows the blonde man everywhere is coming from just a bit farther back, so Ray turns around to check behind him for the source. The bells circle around on the flight of stairs above Ray that curls around the outer edge of the Temple until Gavin finally appears from around a bend in the hall and fills the entire space with a jingling sound and his wide eyes.

 

“It starts soon. Were you planning on walking around the entire Temple?” Gavin asks, leaning on the wall to rest a moment. Truly only a moment, because by the next he’s already walking to Ray’s side.

 

“I was taking the long way around.” Ray says, continuing in the direction of the lower floors. “Which you probably just ran the entire length of, instead of coming along from the destination. Solid life choice.”

 

Crossing his arms, Gavin almost looks as though he meant to run the entire winding length of the Temple. Almost.

 

“Well Geoff wasn’t exactly patiently waiting, and I’d rather run around than listen to him muttering prayers under his breath at seventeen beats a minute.”

 

“True.” Ray answers, starting down a flight of stairs that curves just slightly to the left. The lanterns in the alcoves to the left side light the way where the stained glass on the right does not. The sun is slowly falling behind the walls of the Capital, and soon it will be full-dark. A Half-moon in the sky. There have been clouds building in the air and hiding the stars for the last three weeks, so Ray doubts Ryan and Jack will be staying up late to study the sky tonight.

 

The pair continues around the bend as the floor becomes flat, stopping just outside the doors to the main temple room. The muttering chants of the priests have gotten louder, and Ray can just barely make out the difference between Ryan and Jack’s tones. Geoff’s rises over both, straining in the back of his throat. He has been speaking far too much as of late. Griffon’s bright chant is absent.

 

Ray pushes at the left-hand door, holding it open so that Gavin can follow in behind. There is no change in the volume of the room as the Lad’s enter. The Prince and his Priests keep chanting, to the unknowing eye it would almost seem as though they were chatting to each other in some strange tongue. Ray can tell the difference, now. He’s glad Gavin came to rush him along; they’re nearly done if they’ve started speaking to the Ice Goddess of the North.

 

The other people in the room are preparing themselves for work, and some glance up to smile at the Dancers. Martin has yet to pick up his drums, and Kyle’s fife is on a small table next to him. Luke is the only musician making any noise, softly strumming his lute to tune it. The singers sit off to the side of the musicians, looking glum. More than likely their throats hurt as much as Geoff’s and the other priests, the same as the hands holding instruments. Ray knows his legs are sore, and Gavin’s must be- since he wouldn’t stop complaining for the past two nights.

 

Gavin leans over Ray’s shoulder to wave at Sara, not quitting until the Singer drags her eyes away from the floor to nod a hello. Next to her Blaine waves even though the motion wasn’t meant for him. Adam is facing the opposite direction of the Dancers, face confused. One glance tells Ray that it’s Joel off to the back of the pack of parishioners that’s drawing his gaze.

 

And what a crowd of Parishioners it is.

 

Ray has become used to seeing important bodies filling the seats of their private room on the top floor of the Temple, and tonight's ceremony reads like a who's who. The Generals have a bench together, all of their heads bowed. The pattern of Blonde, Red, Blonde bobs a bit whenever Geoff’s voice rises, and Ray could swear their hands are linked together. On the bench behind them Gus, Joel, and Matt have filed in and stare distractedly, in Joel’s case distracting Adam. To the left of the three men sit a few members of the Consulate. They talk in whispers and pass parchment to one another over their scarf-covered laps, wasting no time until the ceremony begins. And finally, in front of them- to the left of the Generals; The King on a bench all to himself.

 

The only time Ray has ever seen the King slouch forward is in Temple, and tonight shows no different. Burnie leans forward over his own lap so far that his nose nearly brushes his knees. His lips move in time with Geoff’s, mimicking the Prince’s chant. In times like this it is easier to see the resemblance- not in the face, but in their actions. Both men share an expression of hope, faintly hidden in the creases at the corner of their closed eyes. There is a serenity in their prayer, something deeper than that in the average follower. In them there is power and light.

 

There is power in the sword Burnie prays over as well, but that is power which all men can wield. His is certainly not the first sword to be blessed in the Temple, nor is it the only in the room this night. The Generals have theirs lain across their laps, overlapping so that they would scrape and sound off if the women moved more than an inch away from each other. Mail and leather and polish melt into the incense of the room and change the sweet smell, adding in the tint of metal- it smells of blood.

 

Michael greets Ray and Gavin with a nod when they reach the raised platform that circles the one Geoff, Jack, and Ryan are standing on. The room is nowhere near full, so they do not spread so far out, leaving barely more than an arms length between each of them. If this were the private temple they would be placed elsewhere, but they’ve chosen the lowest Temple floor to conduct their service in so that the Earth Gods will hear them. Battle is theirs, and the Wisdom and Ingenuity of the Sky and Water Gods respectively were addressed in their own time.

 

Ryan and Jack finally let their voices taper off, lending an odd unearthly quality to the room as the only voice left is Geoff. This leads the rest of the room to prepare. Ray picks up his fans, trailing the edges of the light and airy fabric attached to them through his fingers absentmindedly. He hadn’t expected to take to them too well, but after the first session with some old fans Michael had tossed to him two months ago Ray hasn’t been able to let go of them. Jordan had finally made him his own pair, insisting that the fabric flow from white to green- once again overthrowing Kara’s fantasy of covering Ray in too much red.

 

Jordan is right, though- the Roses are enough. Every time Ray puts on a new crown it feels like the first day again, dancing in the square. If they alone were enough to attract the prince’s notice all those months ago then they are enough for this, now. They are enough to bring the God’s eyes to him as Geoff’s voice leads to silence and Ray takes his place to Michael’s left; Gavin to Michael’s right.

 

The room is hushed, silent. Ray has learned how to hold himself, one arm to his front and another behind him- his fans open and ready. Gavin has gone still, Michael is turned to stone.

 

And then Adam opens his mouth, and one long-loud baritone humm starts the prayer.

 

Blaine and Sara enter in with their tones quietly, at the same time Luke and Kyle begin to play. The fife is constant and in tune with the singers-- the lute is a background metronome to keep everyone in time.

 

Ray is the first to move. Slowly he raises and lowers his fans with the music until the fife begins to climb higher- and then he spins. The fabric follows him, trailing like a cloud at the wind’s bequest. His movements are slow-going. It is like watching a tree wave back and forth, mesmerizing in its simplicity. His movements become quicker as the song picks up and speeds along, until the drums come in.

 

Martin begins to use the drum, and Kyle puts down his fife to begin using the castanets that are on the table next to him. It is when they begin that Ray stops moving and lets his fans fall to his sides. Gavin begins moving now, bells afire and his movements quick.

 

Gavin spins and jumps and nearly breaks past the edge of the platform with every step, but he never falls. He is always moving, ever changing. He breaks like waves on the beach. As on the day Ray met him he turns his body from bones and muscle to free movement without a thought. He is rushing, though, plagued by something.

 

The lute goes silent and Gavin stops, breathing heavy. It is only the drums now, with Adam’s deep tone under it. Ray can see Michael preparing- his muscles tensing for the jump that will send him into the furious dancing of the Mountains- the Earth beneath their feet will rise to meet him and bring them victory--

 

But he never gets the chance to dance.

 

Everyone’s heads turn as the doors of the Temple Room are thrown open. The men rushing inside incite panic-- The Generals rise as one and pull their swords from their laps and the King follows suit, the rest of the room holds it’s breath. Two shadows pull forward from the door, dragging a third between them. It moans, and the other voices speak in whispers.

 

But the men are familiar, underneath a layer of sweat and blood.

 

“Miles.” Burnie chokes out, mid-panic, and then he seems to reign himself in and stand straighter. He does not sheath his blade. Miles, accompanied by Chris, heave Brandon between them. It is only Brandon with the taste of his own blood in his mouth, leaking from a cut above his eyebrow. He was on sentry duty tonight, on the western gate.

 

“Your Majesty-” Brandon says, lowering his head as best he can in the grip of Miles and Chris. “We must evacuate the Temple at once. There are men within the walls.”

 

His words create whispers, filling in the space where moments ago there had been prayer and music. The General’s look to each other and their eyes harden- the Councilmen begin stuffing papers into their bags. The musicians and singers, at a look from the Prince, drop their instruments and prayers and file out through the other door and out and away through the gardens. Most of the council follows- Joel hanging on to Adam’s arm and discussing things under his breath.

 

“That’s impossible.” The King says, eyes flickering to the doors that the Guards have just come through, to the door the rest have absconded to.

 

Geoff steps forward off the dais, passing between Ray and Michael to do so. The air feels cold where the Prince has left, leaving his Lads to shiver.

 

“This was an eventuality we chose to ignore.” Geoff says, looking to Burnie. The King gives a half glance to his brother, biting the inside of his cheek in thought.

 

“How long? How many?” Burnie asks once his mind is made up.

 

“An advance guard, perhaps twenty five, mayhaps fifty. Or, even more. We could not count.” Brandon says. He leans a touch more heavily onto Miles. “They are in our walls and no doubt on their way here; to the Palace and this Temple. We have minutes.”

 

Geoff’s face goes dark. And then he speaks low and fast.

 

“Demaras. To the Palace at once, and collect everyone you can and push them into the tunnels. We’ll do the same here-- we can at least stall. Brother-”

 

“I will not.” Burnie interrupts, cutting off Geoff’s consideration. “Demaris make sure the Queen and High Priestess are cared for, find the Lady Ward- she knows the tunnels if no one else. GO.”

 

Chris, with a dip of his head, leaves Brandon to Miles’ arms and flees. He shuts the doors behind him, leaving very little sound.

 

Geoff, interrupted before, decides to voice his suggestion again.

 

“Burnie.” The Prince says, waiting until the King turns to look him in the eyes to continue. “I think you should accompany your wife in the tunnels. The Generals have their orders, and you need not be above ground.”

 

“The Generals have no _men_.” Burnie replies, tone icy. “Their armies are behind our walls awaiting an attack from the bulk of the enemy- they need as much power as they can collect.”

 

Miles, carefully depositing Brandon onto a pew, looks up at the King and Prince throughout the argument. Geoff is seemingly defeated, until he looks directly into Miles’ eyes and nods his head at an unspoken agreement.

 

“Perhaps, your majesty-” Miles starts to say, head low. His voice causes Brunie’s head to snap to attention and then glare. “The Prince is right. Both yourself and the Prince are too important to risk in this, the Empire would have nothing if it lost you.”

 

Burnie looks ready to argue, and certainly he would, but there are shouts echoing in from under the doors and all of them sound dangerous.

 

“Take the Prince and his court into the tunnels.” The King says, looking at Miles. There is no room for argument, and a dash of Pride in his tone. “Protect them at all costs, Luna.” He pauses, and then glances at Geoff. “The Empire will have nothing, without him.”

 

Geoff nods, then turns back to his lads. He brushes his hands against Michael’s shoulders to push him toward the dais, and then does the same for Gavin and then Ray. They all move toward the center of the room, where Ryan and Jack have pulled three rugs from the platform and are busily pulling at a clever stone carving.

 

The King has raised his sword, and the Generals follow suit, but they are all looking to their Prince.

 

“One last blessing.” Burnie says. It is almost a plea.

 

As he turns Geoff’s face is tight, wrinkles in his forehead as he raises his right arm toward the swords raised in his direction.

 

“Swift and sure, and never silent.” He says, like it is the last thing he has to give.

 

“Never silent!” The Generals cry in answer, lifting their swords and their shoulders. Their battle-cry, their prayer. Tuggey turns toward Dunkleman and Zuelch and smiles.

 

“Ladies, to stations! Your Majesty-” Lindsay says, and then stops, as if she’s realized she’s just tried to order her King into battle. But Burnie smiles, nodding his head.

 

“My sword is yours, General.”

 

Lindsay nods. “With me then. Out you curs-” She says, turning back to the doors and rushing for the halls. Her voice echoes back inside from stone to stone. “For the Empire, and Podricks Pass!”

 

The Prince sees Michael’s footsteps falter at Lindsay’s last shout, but he has no time for the boy to question intentions while war is on their heels. He gently pushes again at his shoulders, forcing him to follow Gavin and Ray down the ladder in the hole in the floor that Ryan and Jack have uncovered for them. Geoff follows after, and is grateful to hear both Ryan and Jack’s footsteps following behind his own until Ryan heaves the heavy grating back over the tunnel. There is a shadow waiting above them, in the grate. Brandon, swaying on his feet with his sword out and ready.

 

Geoff prays that the other temple guard will arrive to support him as soon as possible.

 

Miles is now at the head of their company. He leads Gavin and Michael and Ray, followed by Geoff, with Jack and Ryan bringing up the rear. Sword in hand, he is their only protection. But the tunnels should be safe, at least for now. The sandstone walls are cool to the touch and covered in scripture and tales of the faith. They are covered in the old stories and the new.  If Brandon holds and the Generals and the King can hold back anyone who approaches the Temple entrances then they may yet remain safe and sound. This story will also grace the tunnels one day. But there is also the Palace to consider, and how the guards were not ready.

 

Geoff’s mind blanks at the thought of Griffon in the Palace, working in the idol room. But he sent Chris to find her, and Burnie made sure he thought to bring Jack’s wife as well. The Queen will be safer in their grouping- not that she cannot handle herself. Ashley had never been fond of being just a scholar- Just as Griffon was more than a Priestess, and always would be.

 

“We’ll turn here, and it will bring us around to the central stair. We’ll move past it and toward the back tunnel-- the one that goes past the gates. That will be our best exit if things go wrong.” Miles says. His voice is shakey. Geoff cannot tell if it is because of the strain of leading the Prince’s court through darkness or if he had also heard the King’s word just before absconding.

 

“There will be lamps by the stair.” Ryan says from the back of the line, his shadow darker than the walls. “It’s not safe to be underground without them.”

 

Miles nods, and Geoff can see it in the gloom, and he’s sure Michael can, but not so sure about the others.

 

Their footsteps continue, and then hit smooth stone. Miles brings them to a halt and then moves forward into the dark- until suddenly there is far too much light. After the glare has receded and the Court’s  eyes have adjusted they can see the basket of small lamps and the flint in Miles’ other hand. Here the passage widens out, and Ryan steps forward to help light two more lamps and keeps a flint in his pocket just in case.

 

After the lamps have been passed out, one given to gavin and another to Jack, they all stand still for a moment. Listening yields nothing but silence, and the group seems to sigh collectively and then move forward. They are forced back into a two-by-two file by the width of the hallways, the intimacy only adds to their fear.

 

It is a hundred yards in, at the break off of another tunnel which makes a four-way split, that they hear the other footsteps.

 

“The others?” Gavin asks, only to be hushed. Miles is the one who ultimately listens and then shakes his head. He points to the left tunnel, off the path they had been taking, and the Lads immediately file in. It takes a moment more for the Prince and his Priests to comply.

 

“I will lead them off. Turn out your lamps-” He hisses. Geoff nods to Jack, who blows his out. Gavin wines sadly but ultimately follows the example. “-Go around the left hook, you know it your highness?”

 

Geoff nods. The same tunnels they stand in are the same that he played in as a child, the same as Miles did. All palace children seem to recognize any part of them, even in darkness.

 

“With the Eagles eyes on you, Miles.” Geoff offers, not even holding up a hand. He doesn’t have the energy to do so, watching his charge slip away from him thinking that it is his duty.

 

Miles nods, smiling his shaky smile. There is a beat, where it looks like he doubts himself, and then he is gone. Running, not walking. It sounds as though the other footsteps catch on immediately, shouts leaving them behind when they had been getting closer and closer.

 

The Prince and his court are left in darkness.

 

“Around this way.” Geoff says, brushing past the Lads to continue forward. _Miles knows the tunnels well, he will survive_. He tells himself.

 

It is another five minutes until they hear footsteps again, but this time accompanied by voices. They do not recognize them, and that leaves room for panic. Geoff stills the group with a hand and listens, then points to the right.

 

The old storage room can fit them all with a small amount of room to spare, but there is no doorway- only a sandstone archway. They crowd inside and wait, but the footsteps are continuing.

 

“Every doorway.” One voice says.

 

“Every nook.” Another replies.

 

Geoff looks to Ryan and Jack, and sees their lantern flare up. He does not have to ask why, as Ryan is already at the arch, staring at the stones. The darkness at the end of the tunnel is no longer so deep- which means approach, and no time to find another hiding place.

 

“Here.” He says almost immediately, leaning his hand on a stone near the bottom of the arch in the wall. He motions for everyone else to come forward, the lads especially. “All your weight, everyone.”

 

They come forward at once, everyone except Ray who grabs the lantern to hold it high above his head, and push. The stone cracks, crumbles, and they hear the footsteps even more clearly.

 

“Is that?-”

 

“Over there!”

 

But the voices are silenced easily enough, when the archway falls in on itself and sandstone begins to crumble into place. The whole court steps backward, frightened by the sudden collapse and the silence of the room now that they have cut themselves off from everything, and everyone.

 

There are little scrapes, scratches from the other side of the collapse. Perhaps the enemy is digging.

 

“Now there’s no way in.” Ryan says, stating the obvious. The speech is not for his benefit, nor for anyone else in the room. It is a nervous reflex.

 

The rest of the group is quiet, Geoff seems contemplative.

 

“No way in.” Ray says, echoing Ryan. His face is pale, frightened underneath the glow of his solitary lantern.

 

“But that also means no way out.”


	9. Lucky are the Other Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood, war, major character injury.  
> ((I really have no excuses for how long this has taken. Enjoy the second to last chapter.))

Lindsay cleaves her sword through a man’s upper arm with a determined ferocity. She ignores the rush of blood to pull her sword from his flesh and then spins round, ignoring his cries as he falls dying to the floor to search for her King. He is there, just to the back of her- and he has already finished his latest attacker- the same as she has.

“Are you injured?” Burnie asks, multi-tasking by asking while he lifts his sword to inspect it. The lamps around them are lit- and the floor is covered in jewel toned red to match his blade. It would be pretty, if Lindsay did not know that the floor was meant to be emerald green. The temple is no longer a haven- it is a slaughterhouse.

She is part butcher.

“No. This is not my blood.” Lindsay replies simply, ignoring the taste of copper and salt- and the feeling of warm blood turning cold on her sleeves. This messy business has left her drenched already- one of the reasons she dislikes fighting without her armor. At least under layers of leather and steel she cannot feel dirty in anything but her own sweat and blood.

Seven men have fallen to the combined blades of the king and his general in the last ten minutes- seven men who threatened their entire world with their screams and their curses. They have only made it through two halls- but the resistance is thinning. There was only a small force sent into the Temple- They were not expecting the priests to be surrounded by swords.

Lindsay wonders, as they walk, who these men take them for-- Fools? Their very High Priestess wields two blades and can take down guards in the practice yards with little more than her hands. The Empire is no weak nation.

While they walk they leave bloody bootprints behind them. Perhaps the red is beautiful after all. If it leads to their success, how can it not be?

Lindsay passes the next doorway with her weapon still drawn, not taking any chances. Passing through two halls and separating from the other generals to give the Prince’s court time to escape has been a battle in itself- they are surrounded by enemies in their holiest of places. They cannot call for aid without the threat of alerting their enemy as well as their comrades. They must stay silent and prepared, with their Gods and Idols surrounding them.

It is the Gods who give her the most comfort- She doubts harm will come to any of their number within the temple walls, at least: The Idols watch with eyes that never blink. They will not let their children fall.

As they round the corner, Lindsay knows that the lower floor of the Temple must be secured.

“Barbara.” Lindsay greets, noting the blood on her friend’s blade. Barbara smiles, raising it in greeting. From behind Lindsay hears the King’s greeting, though it is for the man who stands to Barbara’s side.

“Gus!” Burnie says, and there is concern coloring his tone. Gus is gripping his left arm close to his chest- looking much more peeved than usual. “Your arm-”

“Enough of that.” Gus snaps, and Lindsay knows far too well how the King regards his Scribe to doubt that there will be no repercussion for him snapping at the King. There is no blood, at least; Gus will be fine if they all survive this. “Have you seen any of the others?”

The council had gone out through the other doors- toward the garden. If Gus was here, then...

“You were attacked?” Lindsay asks, thinking not only of Joel and Matt and the Councilmen but also of the musicians and singers of the Prince’s court. They had followed through the back ways too.

“Ambushed in the Gardens.” Gus agrees. “We all scattered, I haven’t seen anyone but Barbara since.”

“Lucky that you did.” Barbara says, not above smirking.

“Lucky that I had a dagger, or it would be your arm, General.” Gus retaliates.

While the bickering is comforting, so reminiscent of peaceful times, Lindsay cannot help but glance around the room as the king does- watching for anyone that could be coming their way. Their strength it doubled now- even with Gus injured, but that does not make them invincible. Their time is limited. If the Gardens are compromised then the Bulls have a way into the Temple from around the back on the second floor, and into the palace from the first.

“Enough, we have to get outside.” Burnie says, focused on the correct path they must take. “I am through with this whole business. We will cut this off at the head- we find the man in charge of the assault and kill him, and then take out all their people in our walls.”

Lindsay cannot agree enough, raising her blade the same as Barbara. Gus nods his head, falling in behind the King with Barbara behind him flanking him in the middle of their group.

The Gods must be watching over them, too, for the path to the doors is clear and open to them. They find their way into the early night, thankful for what little light filters from the stars through the dense cloud cover that threatens rain- otherwise they would never see the lone approaching figure with a bright silver blade at his side.

Monty is to them as soon as they breach the doors- sidestepping Barbara’s turn with her blade that could have had his ear off.

“Your Highness.”

“Monty- What news?” Burnie asks even as Barbara is stumbling to keep herself from knocking Monty off balance.

The King is still moving forward despite everyone’s attempts to pause. Monty walks with him, leaving the rest to catch up. Lindsay remains closest.

“Chris and Kerry have taken the Queen and High Priestess into the tunnels with Lady Ward leading them. The lower floors of the palace have been closed off, no one can get in to the first floor through the gardens.” Monty says, quick and precise. Lindsay is immediately glad for him.

“Our nobility are safe, then.” Lindsay says, though her glance from Monty to the King standing beside him proves that they both agree there is one man missing from the number who should be kept safe in the tunnels. “We move to take the enemy- Will you follow into the tunnels to meet your guards?” She asks, tightening her grip on her blade as she hears footsteps.

Monty draws his own weapon as the footsteps echo to his ears, evidence that a force of five or more is headed their way around the temple wall, and shakes his head.

“No, my men can handle themselves. My sword is yours.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The tunnels are dark- but that doesn’t matter. Miles does not need his eyes to see these halls twist and turn before him. His memory is enough.

Miles was born in the palace, and raised here. He has played in these dark recesses for years, rather than bother the high born children for friendship. The dark carvings became his friends until he was old enough to join the guard and find men of flesh and blood to keep his company.

No, he is not worried about becoming lost in the tunnels.

He is much more worried about his breathing, and how unsteady it is; how these tunnels have been his protection for years and now they just might be his doom.

Doom following him with heavy footsteps and harsh words in a language he does not fully understand- secret words that clip and bite and turn at the end like something evil and dark. Miles knows they are just people, but they are his enemies- and his enemies have always been monsters to him.

As a child he had wandered the palace halls meek and quiet, confused by the looks he was given by adults he thought could be his friends. What man berates a child for existing? Certainly the King had done his best to curb their bitter words and send them off, but he had never been much more than a distant shadow scaring away monsters for Miles. He’d certainly never been close enough to be a father.

Miles ticks his head to the side at the errant thought- he has ways tried to keep those at bay as best he can; he is a Temple Guard and a Bastard. He has no father.

And, right now, he has no sword.

This is the more pressing issue, if he’s honest with himself. All he has in his hand is the hilt of a blade with a shard of iron left at it’s base for a sword blade. True, he’d taken down the three men who’d chased him, but now he has no protection as he doubles back around to find his Prince- and what good is a guard with no sword?

And now there are sounds in the halls, and he’s quite sure they’re not his friends. The clipped words follow him, something broken between the common tongue of the Empire and the people of the West. He can understand half of it, if he tries hard enough to concentrate.

They are approaching fast, walking quickly. They are not expecting to run into anyone. These enemies are quite sure they can handle anyone who throws themselves at them.

Until he has a sword, Miles is like to agree.

Running is not an option, now- They are too close. Miles slides himself further into the recess of the stone wall he’s standing beside with his leather armor grating against damp sandstone and listens, trying to slow his panicked breath.

The first voice is hissing and impatient- the man sounds more like a snake than a Bull.

“-pull them all from their burrow like rabbits for the slaughter.”

“We will, Taurus.” Another voice replies. They’re approaching from Miles’ right, so he turns his head to compensate.

Are they speaking about The Prince and his Court in the tunnels? Then they have yet to be found, and Miles was not wrong to lead the enemy off and away. Good, he would rather have died than be the cause of their capture.

“Once we have them we will have their King, too.”

“Yes Taurus. They must come for their Prince.”

“Fools to not let doomed parties die. Sickness culls the herd. Finish the work here, I move out of this hole.”

“As you will, Taurus.”

Miles stops breathing as the duo pass by his recess, only letting his chest expand again once their footsteps have turned soft. The release of air is enough to warrant the panic returning, so she pulls himself from his hiding place as soon as he thinks it is safe. His half-sword scrapes a gouge into the soft sandstone at his escape, a mark of his being there.

The voices, aside from being horribly accented and dangerous to boot, have given him something to go on. They are after the Prince, well and truly after the Prince, but only to get the King.

Of course, Miles does not doubt that ‘Taurus’ would happily slit Geoff’s throat the moment he had Burnie in his clutches, but there lies the ceding factor. These men do not know how important both parties are to the Empire-- They see only Burnie, only the king, as a consequential piece in their war.

Fools, the lot of them- to threaten a God on Earth for his brother’s mere mortal soul. No wonder they fell at every blow of the General’s swords- they threatened everything and knew nothing about why it was wrong to do so.

Or perhaps Miles is the fool, for standing still while he settles his thoughts and regulates his breathing. He is lucky to hear the scrape of sandstone against boots and turns in time to lift his broken sword to defend his head from the hilt of another man’s blade.

He is knocked back, pushed to a wall and feels his head hit stone. Miles growls and pushes back in equal force with his right arm and weapon, but his sword is not long enough to push past armor and flesh to reach anything vital. Though his enemy grunts in pain, it is the Temple guard who feels air escape his lungs at a knee to the gut and groin, and then a powerful blow to the back of his head as he’s shoved once more into the tunnel wall.

The shadow that settles into Miles’ vision is not the comfort of the dark tunnels he has known since childhood, but of his enemy’s leather armor leaning over his head as he calls to his comrades.

Miles slips into darkness alone, as always.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The High Priestess has never been fond of darkness. Shadow and light are a balance, and far too much of one has always thrown her off. Griffon feels compressed in the tunnels; she feels surrounded.

That could very well be the enemies rampaging above their heads- or the threat of the Bulls flooding into the tunnels and taking her entire group for dead; but she would rather be frightened of the dark than of men. The Gods control darkness, but men are of clay and free will. They are unpredictable.

“Stop here a moment, Caiti.”

Griffon’s voice is soft and quiet in the sandstone tunnels, it does not echo. She reaches back to brush against the scholar’s arm, and Caiti pauses where she stands just behind the high priestess, to wait for more orders. Caiti has been leading the group of evacuates from the Palace behind her for some time, now, as they dodge footsteps and whispers.

Griffon has been in front of them the whole time, standing front guard with Chris whose leg has somehow not given out yet. It’s impressive, really- that sort of endurance, but he may not be of much help in a fight. Griffon is ready in that eventuality, she has her blades out in front of her at the ready; she knows Kerry stands behind the bulk of the group with his own blade out and ready.

Griffon’s two curved swords cross over each other as she glances around the next corner, ignoring the breathing of the seven others at her heels.

“Can you hear that, Demarais?” Griffon asks, hushing the group again with the tone of her voice. She wants him to double check this-- he may have been overtaken earlier and had his leg nearly hacked off, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely useless.

Matt and Ashley also shift forward to listen as Chris does, all attempting to hear what their High Priestess has told them to listen for. Matt and Ashley don’t seem to hear anything, but Chris’s eyebrows tighten so that he looks contemplative.

“Shifting sand.” He says, leaning back against the wall.

Griffon nods her head, thoughts racing. The sound is sand and rock shifting, moving place to place as if someone is digging- but there is no reason to dig in the tunnels. These halls are complete and there are no secrets below, only rock and stone.

There are no buried treasures here for these blasphemous Barbarians.

“What is around this corner?” Griffon asks Caiti, near silent still. The digging continues, with no change.

“Just little storage recesses, nothing of importance.” Caiti answers. She knows the maps of this place far better than any of the others.

Behind her, Jordan and Kara are trying not to shake.

“But this is the direction we’re meant to go.” Kara says, trying to look past the bulk of the group. They have no light, but their eyes have adjusted for the dark in the time they’ve spent walking. She can see the glinting of Griffon’s circlet, and Ashley’s crown.

“Yes, it is.” Caiti agrees, looking toward Griffon for answers.

Griffon purses her lips as she thinks, tapping her thumbs on the hilts of her blades. The digging is fast and by more than one hand, that is assured.

“Shawcross, with me.” She says finally, and feels the group shift as they allow Kerry forward from the very back of the group to meet her at it’s head.

“The tunnel isn’t very wide.” Kerry says, giving word to something Griffon had been contemplating. That’s an issue. If there are too many enemies and Griffon goes ahead, then there is the chance that she will be overtaken, leaving Kerry with very little way to help her.

“Is there another way around?” Griffon asks.

“To the right at the fork, and then a loop around the left with bring you right back around the same hall.” Caiti says.

“Good, then wait for my whistle.” Griffon says, leaving Kerry the order. Matt might hum in disapproval, but no one stops her as she slips away into the dark and heads down the cold hall to the fork and to the right. She is as quiet as she can be, remembering childhood on the Plains where she slipped over brown grass a dew at dusk to hide from other children and their games.

She is careful and deadly- The Gods have made her so.

Griffon comes around the loop and can see moving shapes in the darkness before her. There are two of them, bending low and scrabbling at a collapse in a wall as if there is indeed treasure inside. She can see little tendrils of light through holes in the stones and sand; the flickering of a lantern.

It doesn’t matter to her why they want what is inside- only that they do not get it.

Griffon’s whistle is low and soft, like wind through the cracks in a window pane. She sees the men pause at the sound of it, but they only raise their weapons when she appears closer to them in the dark, circlet alight by the grace of flickering lantern through the holes they’ve dug.

The second man never sees Kerry come at him from behind, and the first never sees more than a flash of Griffon’s circlet and the glint of her teeth.

A few moments later the bodies lay on the ground and Griffon has nothing left to hold her back from moving her group forward through the tunnels and onward to safety. She owes it to her Brother in Law, her King, to keep Ashley safe. She owes it to herself and her husband to keep herself and his court safe.

She is curious, though, about what could be so important behind a pile of stone and sand. Something had distracted these Bulls from their rampage; she wants to know what it is.

So while Kerry leads the group back toward her, pulling them together and taking his place once again to protect their backs, Griffon leans down toward one of the holes in the pile of stones and looks, blinking past light that is far too bright after her travels.

She is not expecting Ryan to be glaring back at her, and then to blink in surprise.

“Griff-” Ryan starts, full of surprise.

“Ryan!” Griffon replies, interrupting him and speaking a touch too loudly. The group hears her, she can hear them speed up their steps to reach her more quickly where she kneels by the pile of stones.

“Griffon?”

This voice she knows even more intimately. Ryan’s piercing eyes are replaced with her husband’s cautious ones.

She is not surprised that he looks confused, rather than completely overtaken.

“Did you pray for deliverance?” Griffon asks, a small joke as Chris and Matt and Kerry begin to dig far faster than the Bulls ever were.

“To see you safe.” Geoff answers in a whisper, his hand coming through the stones to grip her own for a moment. “Though both were granted to me.”

“And a good thing, too.” Griffon replies, turning her head to watch the stones shift and move ever faster. They need safety, and quickly. The tunnels are apparently the absolute worst place to find it.

“Now, start praying for all the others to have the same.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All Miles can smell is lilies. It’s not the most awful scent to have on your deathbed, he thinks. It is comforting in the way that only a flower given to the dead can be. He has done his duty, he has protected his Prince and his King. Miles will not die a traitor or a fiend; as much as the Bulls press him for information he’s not even sure if he has.

He could deal without the taste of blood.

Miles would prefer the sweet cloying taste of Moon Lilies, though he has heard before that they are dangerous poison. Very much like him, in a way. A noxious weed that clings to beautiful trestles and holds tight even as people begin to pull away at him and tear him apart because they think he is beautiful.

Another fists flies into his side, and he coughs but says nothing.

He withers a bit- unsteady on his knees. There is no rope binding his arms, but three men surround him and one has hold of his shoulders- there is nothing to stop them here. If he pushed past them he will only be thrown back to the ground of the garden and kicked. He has had that happen twice already, a third time may break a rib, if there are any left unbroken. It feels like his chest is on fire.

The men around him, besides the three holding him and making use of their fists, change rapidly. They run off or appear silently, whispering to each other about the temple and the riches inside or the missing Prince.

That is who they ask Miles about; that and The King.

Oh, with their skewed view of the King- Miles almost wishes they knew of his parentage, if only to see how they would react.

But they are discussing him, now- he can tell because the grips on his shoulders have tightened, even as the voices grow lower.

The hiss is back, the snake with a Bull’s horns.

“And what news?”

“The dog would tell us nothing, Taurus.” Someone replies from behind him.

Good, they know he is absolutely nothing to them. Let the simmer on it, let it burn them. He will tell them nothing, and he will die for it.

“Then what good is he? Put him down, we have more important things to do.” Taurus says, like it is common sense. Maybe it is, maybe the Bulls put down every dog that doesn’t suit their wills.

_Let it be done, then_. Miles thinks. _Let it be over- and the King have your head and the Prince your soul._

He can hear movement behind him, and sways when he is suddenly released and there is no one to hold him steady with rough hands and a curse. One of them grunts with the effort of swinging something, hard.

This time Miles welcomes the darkness- it is an old friend, like the smell of Moon Lilies.

 


End file.
